


Lose Your Heart In History

by nash_tag



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:02:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 32,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25904023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nash_tag/pseuds/nash_tag
Summary: Modern AU. Father Nicolò is on holiday in Jerusalem when he runs into Professor Al-Kaysani in a Museum. They disagree about art history and a war of words begins. There's definitely no other reason these two guys decide to start hanging. I'm bad at writing summaries. It'll get gay.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 1313
Kudos: 1361





	1. The Priest and the Professor

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this tumblr post: https://tovezza.tumblr.com/post/625904659265159168/tovezza-oh-to-have-been-a-fly-on-the-wall-when
> 
> The title is from Little Faith by The National. Matt Berninger owns my soul.

It was 3000 degrees in Jerusalem. Or at least that's what it felt like. _Well,_ Nicolò thought to himself, _you're the one who wanted to visit the Holy Land in July_. He took off the hat Sister Bona has pressed on him as a passing gift and pushed back his hair from his already sweaty brow. Suddenly his plan of walking around parks didn't seem so smart. Perhaps the Valley of the Cross would have to wait for another day. A little voice in the back of his head tried to remind him why he'd come here but the rest of his being screamed for shade and air conditioning. He was searching the Rehavia streets to the east of the park for shelter and a tall glass of water when he spotted a sign in English. Museum of Islamic Art. Perfect. He could hide from the heat of the sun and still continue on the theological paths this trip was meant to include. Or he could at least tell himself that.

Walking through the doors out of the heat and into the promised land of cool stone and temperature control, Nicolò decided this was his favourite museum in the world. Maybe his favourite building. He gladly paid the entrance fee and, after visiting the Gents to throw water on his face (and have it immediately run off the troweled-on layer of sunscreen he was wearing) he started his visit in earnest.

He was enjoying his way through an exhibition on the Golden Age when he heard a voice in a language he recognised. English, with an accent, but English all the same. After his first few days in the city spent bumping into people and trying to make his way through crowds while automatically apologising in Italian it was a relief to find someone he shared a language with. He turned away from the display of Alhambra tiles he'd been admiring to seek out the voice. While he'd been distracted but the impossible beauty of the designs a small crowd had appeared behind him on the other side of the room. He made his way over, trying to pretend he was just following the path of the displays.

“- yes it's art but the historical context is essential for understanding the influences. And in turn, the art alters the history.”

The group was looking between a section on antiquities and the speaker. He was a man around Nicolò's own age with short, dark curly hair and a full beard. Despite wearing a similar get up of a loose button-down and cotton trousers he didn't look as dishevelled as Nicolò felt and he was happily talking the group through the display, his hands reaching out towards it occasionally, his eyes rarely leaving the pieces. He clearly knew what he was talking about and so Nicolò figured he might as well take the opportunity for a free tour. He lurked within earshot, trying to look inconspicuous while also intermittently stealing glances at the different relics the man was referring to.

"Were it not for the work of Muslim scholars during this period, classic antiquities from several different cultures would have been lost-”

“And Christian.” For a moment Nicolò didn't realise he'd spoken.

“Excuse me?”

He turned to face the man, who was looking at him with a puzzled look. “Sorry, I didn't-”

“What did you mean?”

The group had all turned to look at him. A young black woman beside him was looking back and forth between them with a knowing expression. Everyone else seemed to be rather young and very confused by what was happening.

“I just meant that there were Christian scholars who...” The man's head had turned slightly to one side and he had a curious smile on his face. “Uh, who helped.”

“But without the Academy of Gondishapur many of them wouldn't have even been there.”

Maybe it was the heat. Maybe that was why Nicolò, who avoided conflict to such an extent he'd considered skipping his parish's meetings to avoid arguments about the cleaning rota, was debating ancient history with a man he'd never met.

“The Church of the East existed centuries before the Academy.”

“Sure, but I think the devastation of the Crusades probably weighs out any meaningful contribution by Christian communities.”

The young woman groaned and pinched her brow. “Ok, everyone, I think that's lunch. Let's meet back at the Qajar Period in an hour.” She started to shepherd the bemused-looking group away, pausing to call back, “The Crusades? Really, _Professor_?”

There was an undercurrent of humour to her surface-level frustration. The man, a professor apparently, didn't move his gaze away from Nicolò, but called back. “I'll be right with you, Nile.”

“No, no, stay and torture the tourists, don't mind me.”

Nicolò winced internally. The one time he decided to get combative he ended up trying to explain something to an apparent expert in the field. He went to apologise but the professor cut him off.

“How do you know so much about Persian history?”

“I studied the East-West schism at Theological College.”

“Huh.” A strange look came over the professor's face. Nicolò couldn't quite place it but if he had to guess... disappointed? “So you're...”

Oh, this. Part of Nicolò wanted to lie (well, would it really be a lie at this stage?) just to see how it felt. But honesty prevailed. “I'm a priest.”

“Catholic?”

“For my sins.”

The other man barked out a laugh and his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “You don't work here in Jerusalem.”

“No, I have a parish on the Ligurian coast.”

“Well that explains the accent.”

Nicolò smiled awkwardly. “You're a professor?”

“For _my_ sins,” he smiled. “Yes, art history.”

“Where do you work?”

“Paris – at the College of Art.”

“So those were your students?”

“Not exactly. Nile, the one who isn't constantly looking at her phone, she's my PhD student. She brought one of the junior classes over to visit me while I'm here for the summer doing research.” The professor put a hand on the back of his neck and rolled his head. “I need to stretch my legs.”

The part of Nicolò that had brought him into the museum in the first place begged him to remain indoors but a small part of him he didn't recognise told him to follow. It was small, but insistent, and he found himself padding outside with the man.

“So what's a priest from Genoa doing in Jerusalem? Don't you have a flock to get back to?”

This again. _Well, Nicolò?_ “I'm on holiday.”

The professor leant against the wall in the shade at the front, hands in his pockets, before turning to look at him again. “Do you usually spend your holidays arguing with strangers?”

“I wasn't trying to start a fight.”

“Oh, I don't think that quite qualifies as a fight. Unless you're about to tell me the House of Wisdom didn't exist.”

“Why would I deny the existence of the home of so many great Christian scholars.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, I'm very serious.” _What am I doing?_

They went back and forth for a good long while. At times Nicolò almost didn't recognise himself. It was like when he was first at seminary and had a thousand questions, except this time he was actually opening his mouth and saying what he thought. It felt good. But even as the words passed his lips he could taste the regret on them. For some reason, though, he kept going. And the professor gave as good as he got it. Sometimes he would laugh in this way that seemed to involve his entire body, and occasionally he would swear under his breath in French. You could see everything in his eyes. His anger, his frustration, his incredulity. His passion. Everything was in those eyes.

And then suddenly those eyes were much closer to his.

“Oh shit, undergrads.”

The man ducked down, using Nicolò as cover. His hand appeared gently on Nicolò's waist for a moment as he turned him to better hide himself.

Nicolò didn't move.

“Uf! That one will not leave me alone. It's getting a bit weird... .” The man leaned around him and, satisfied that the coast was clear, stepped back. He checked his watch. “I should probably be getting back.”

“Oh...”

“This doesn't mean you're right about the Abbasid Empire though.”

“Don't be a sore loser.”

The man muttered something to himself in French, shaking his head. “Right, tomorrow, you are meeting me back here and I am going to show you just how wrong you are.” As Nicolò went to speak he smirked and preemptively quipped. “Unless you're prepared to admit defeat.”

For some reason, unbeknownst to him, Nicolò refused to retreat, stood his ground.

“Fine. Eleven o'clock?”

“Perfect,” He started to head back in doors and then stopped and turned back to look at Nicolò.

Again, those eyes saying everything. “I just realised I don't know your name.”

Nicolò snorted. The man had just become 'the professor' in his head. In much the same way he imagine he was 'the priest' to the other man.

He stepped back over and held out a hand, “Yusuf.”

Nicolò shook his hand, smiled, “Nicolò.”

“Well, Nicolò, prepare to be defeated.”

The professor – Yusuf - vanished back into the museum. Nicolò stood there for a few moments and then headed back out into the city, suddenly aware of how hot it was again.

-

At the end of the museum tour, Nile sent the students off to enjoy the rest of the afternoon, on the strict provision that none of them died. Once they were safely on their way Yusuf sighed audibly.

“Marine will not leave me alone. She keeps asking me questions that I've already answered and offering to carry things for me.”

“Hmm,” the sarcasm practically dripped from Nile's words. “I wonder why.”

Having retrieved their belongings from Hadas at the reception desk, they headed out onto the road. Yusuf pulled his cap out of his bag and slipped it on backwards.

“I'm not going to walk with you if you do that.”

“But the undergrads hate it so much.”

“So do I and they're not here for you to torment.” Yusuf smiled but left his cap as it was. “Speaking of torment, what happened to that guy you got into it with.”

“Um....”

“That bad, huh? He's probably fleeing the country as we speak.”

“Oh, he can handle himself. He even agreed to come back tomorrow so I can show him just how wrong he is.”

“You're meeting up with him?”

“I didn't even begin to get round to the influence of Islamic artist on the Renaissance.”

“Uh-huh.”

After a pause Yusuf offered, “He's a priest.”

“Like, a Catholic priest?”

“Yeah.”

“Weird.”

“How?”

Nile shrugged. “I guess he's just not what I imagine when I think of a priest.”

“But you're Christian!”

“Yeah, but I'm Baptist. It's different. I hear priest and in my head I immediately imagine Tom Bosley.”

“Who?”

Nile sighed. “I guess Father Dowling never made it to Morocco. I just don't expect a priest to look like... _that_.”

“Like what?”

Nile tolled her eyes. “Ok, Yusuf, sure.”

-

They split up so that Nile could Skype her brother before dinner and Yusuf headed back to his AirBnb, with the intention of having a nap, when Booker called.

“Hey man, you gotta talk to Andy for me.”

Yusuf flopped onto the sofa, craning his neck up to sip at the glass of water he'd just poured.

“What's going on?”

“She's talking about doing a year at Cambridge.”

“Why?”

“Apparently they have a really good Norse archaeology department,” there was a pregnant pause at

the other end of the line. “She says she needs a change of scene.”

“I mean, I get that. After the break up-”

“Moving to England isn't going to fix her heart, bro.”

“Well, yeah, I know that.”

“It's bad enough you going away for the summer and leaving me to pick up the pieces.”

“Hey man! I've had this booked in since November. How was I meant to know this was going to happen?”

“At least you'll be back for the season. I can't wait to watch us hand Chartres their ass. Little upstarts.”

“So worried about Andy enough to call me but not enough to distract you from sports.”

“Handball isn't a sport, Yusuf. It's a way of life.”

Yusuf laughed, “Okay.”

There was another pause. _You called me, remember?_ Yusuf thought to himself.

“So Nile said you got into with some guy at a museum?”

“Jeez, is nothing sacred?”

“Apparently not – she said he was a priest?”

Yusuf cursed the day he ever introduced his best PhD student to his best friend. “He was an off-duty priest.”

“I don't think that's how it works.”Yusuf could practically see him smirking through the phone. “So Nile said he was hot?”

“He's a _priest_ , Book.”

“Yeah, that's what I'm asking. Is this like a _Fleabag_ situation or..?”

“What's a _Fleabag_ situation?”

“You haven't seen _Fleabag_?”

Yusuf pinched his brow and took a deep breath. “No, Booker. The priest is not 'hot'. He's just a guy who has a lot of wrong opinions.”

“In a hot way?”

“I'm hanging up on you now.”

Yusuf could hear Booker laughing as he disconnected the call. Nile had WhatsApped him a link to a restaurant and the words _Meet here at 7?_ He was too tired to play tour-guide for the evening so he sent back a quick reply agreeing to he dinner suggestion. He then dropped Andy a quick line seeing how she was doing. He was typing out an email to his Mum – Morriam had just about mastered Outlook the same day everyone else decided anything more than 140 characters was too much – when he got a reply from Andy.

_Hanging in there._

And then immediately after.

_What's this about a hot priest???_


	2. Not personal, strictly business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolò and Yusuf meet up to continue their discussion of all things art history and definitely don't have any feelings about it at all.

Nicolò woke up naturally, which felt very unnatural for someone who'd been getting up for early mass for eighteen years. He enjoyed the feeling of lying with his eyes closed, knowing he could fall asleep again and it wouldn't matter. He lay there, listening to the morning traffic brush through the street and feeling the soft sheets slide against him as he stretched under them. He could just lie here. He didn't _have_ to get up. There was no-one waiting, no-one expecting. No demands on him or his time. No requirement to get up and go about his day pretending that- _Best not to go there_. But then again, wasn't that why he was here? To work this all out? And suddenly his morning was guilt-ridden and grief-ruined. He recalled the chaos of the last time they changed the incense. Imagined Signora Monica complaining to Sister Bona about his temporary replacement ( _Because he is temporary, isn't he, Nicolò?_ ). Poor Simone; they were going to eat him alive.

It was tempting to pull the sheets over his head and pretend that there wasn't a little Genoan town out there waiting for him. That there wasn't a Dean demanding a decision. But Nicolò had never been very good at pretence. Which was rather the problem.

The next illogical, and yet inevitable, place for his mind to go was to his family and that was just never going to end well. He dragged himself up into a sitting position and tugged down his t-shirt where it had twisted around his ribs. As he brought it back down over his waist he suddenly remembered the professor's hand briefly touching the same place. _Yusuf_.

He grabbed his watch from the night-stand. Still plenty of time. And suddenly moping around all day didn't seem like an option. He had an argument to win.

-

He arrived early, still clutching the dredges of a coffee from Galia's stall. He was sure there was some rule about only liking Italian coffee he was breaking by admitting to enjoying her lattes but if that was the worst of his sins... . As the hand of his watched inched towards eleven, Nicolò started to wonder if perhaps they were meant to meet inside and dithered in mild indecision before starting to head up the steps.

“I wasn't sure if you were coming.”

Nicolò turned to see Yusuf jogging lightly up the steps behind him. His hair curling out from under a backwards baseball cap.

“I don't give up that easily.” A small smile tugged at Nicolò's mouth while the other man beamed at him.

“Ready to repent of your sins, Padre?”

-

Yusuf all but manhandled him around the Museum. He led him from exhibit to display, from floor to floor. He would physically put his hands on Nicolò's shoulders and stand him in front of different pieces of art, letting them speak for themselves, before launching into his own arguments. Nicolò would occasionally jump in with something remembered from his studies and the bits and pieces he'd picked up from his excessive extra-curricular reading. But about halfway around the first floor he realised that, aside from handshakes at the end of Sunday mass, this was the most another human being had touched him in years. After this dawned on him he found himself bracing a little every time Yusuf approached him, expectant. There was something so casual and natural about the way Yusuf could happily touch another person, another man. It was more foreign to Nicolò than the city they stood in. The fight slowly but surely went out of him and when Yusuf suggested lunch a few hours in he agreed happily.

They grabbed some sandwiches from a nearby cafe and settled down in a park to eat.

“Either theological college has a lot broader curriculum than I thought or you've been holding out on me.”  
  
Nicolò shrugged and watched a cat sneak it's way along the wall towards them. “There's not a whole lot to do where I live. I read a lot.”

“Not a whole lot to do or not a lot you can be seen to do?” Nicolò looked over, caught off guard, but Yusuf was smiling. “Must be hard to get away from... well, God, I suppose.”

Nicolò smiled and kicked his heels lightly against the low wall they were perched on. “I get by.” _You're meant to say you're not trying to get away from God._ He sighed. “It must be a similar problem, always being surrounded by your students.”

“Depends on the students!”

Nicolò laughed. “What about your PhD student – Nile?”

“Well remembered.” Yusuf swallowed a bite of his sandwich. “Nile is great. She gives me a run for my money most days.”

The cat that had been padding around came up on Nicolò's side, eyeing his sandwich. Nicolò fished some of the filling out and held it out. The cat tentatively snuck forward and licked at his fingers.

“What does she study?” Nicolò turned back to Yusuf who was looking at him strangely.

“It'll never leave you along now,” Nicolò shrugged and scratched gently behind the cat's ears. “Sculpture. She's only really here to assist with the trip because she's my teaching assistant. That and she can speak Millennial.”

“Well, I don't know anything about sculpture.”

“I should get her to join us then - I might finally be able to convince you.”

“It's good that you can admit when you need help.”

Yusuf laughed and kicked his shoe against Nicolò's. “Alright, you win this round.” He rolled up his sandwich paper and stretched. Nicolò watched the material of his shirt stretch across his shoulders before turning back to give the cat the last of his lunch. “Much as I would love to stay and hear the rest of your, doubtless compelling and controversial, thoughts on the Berber Dynasties I probably should go and do some actual work.”

Yusuf hopped down off the wall and checked his phone.

“Retreating already?”

Yusuf laughed. “For a priest, you're not always that charitable.”  
  
“I have a direct line to forgiveness,” Nicolò pointed towards the heavens and smirked. “I think I'll be okay.”

Yusuf shook his head and turned his phone between his hands a few times before unlocking it and handing it over. “Put your number in here.” Nicolò starred at him. “Come on, you have to at least give me a rematch. Best of three.” Nicolò swallowed, a strange coolness sinking from his neck down through his chest, before reaching out and taking the other man's phone. _What are you doing?_ He tapped in his details and handed the phone back. Yusuf glanced down.

“Di Genova? You're from Genoa and your name is di Genova?”

Nicolò sighed. “My family has lived there for a very long time.”  
  
“Yeah, no shit.” The side of Yusuf's mouth went up in a... not unpleasant way when he teased him. It made each side of his face soften in two different but equally as endearing ways. _Nicolò_. “Alright, enjoy your afternoon, Nicolò di Genova.”

“You too, Professor...”  
  
Yusuf chuckled as he walked slowly away, hands in his pockets. “Al-Kaysani. You're being bested by a heretic!”

 _How apropos_.

-

Nile had rolled her eyes when he'd met up with her the same day he'd taken Nicolò round the museum. She didn't say anything but made a lot of wry faces and muttered something about 'men' and how they 'wouldn't know an emotion if it hit them in the face'. Yusuf was used to her drier approach so paid it no mind. Mostly she seemed to be worried about Andy too, from the sounds of things.

“The head of department is meant to worry about the students, not the other way round.”

“She's my friend, Yusuf, of course I'm worried about her.” She poured herself some more wine and leant back in her chair at Yusuf's tiny table. “She's talking about moving to _England_ for Christ sake. Who does that?”

“Quynh, apparently.”

“Yeah, but that makes sense if you're studying the witch trials,” Nile turned her glass round and round on the table. “Do you think that's why Andy wants to go there? See if she can run into Quynh?”

Yusuf sighed and put his hands behind his head. “I gave up trying to figure out Andy a long time ago. And I looked up that department. It does actually sound pretty good.”“So did I. It describes itself as 'lively'. Can you imagine Andy somewhere that calls itself 'lively'?”

Yusuf couldn't argue with that. And, much as he liked to try and maintain his sunny outlook, he couldn't help but worry about his friend too. So after Nile had headed back to the university halls to surreptitiously spy on the undergrads, Yusuf hit up Booker again.

_How's the boss?_

There was no reply for a while so he turned on the TV and put on the sports channel. Just before half time his phone rang.

“Hey, I was washing up.”

The image of Booker in a pair of yellow rubber gloves passed through Yusuf's head and he smiled.“That implies that you cooked.”  
  
“The kids are over. Orane's taking them to Toulouse for a few weeks so... .”

Booker's semi-amicable relationship with his ex-wife wasn't something he tended to be particularly forthcoming about. “How does JP feel about that?”

“Apparently there's a big dog next door,” Yusuf smiled, imagining the gangly little boy's glee. “I can't believe I'm being replaced by a dog.”

“I told you to work on your fetching skills.”

“Arsehole,” Booker laughed gruffly.

“Nile thinks Andy wants to go to England because of Quynh.”

“I mean, the idea had crossed my mind too-” There was the sound of one of Booker's sons yelling in the background. “Hang on. _Je sais pas! Peut-être dans le placard?_ ” Booker switched back to English. “Laurent's lost one of his trainers. Not both of them. Just one.”

“Do you need to go?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Yusuf could hear Booker rustling around in the background. “It's hard enough parenting my kids without having to parent my friends too.”

“Nile will be back next week so you'll have joint custody then.”

“Great, because that's working out so well in the rest of my life.”

“Aww, buddy.”  
  
“Fuck off.”

Yusuf laughed. “At least with the kids away you get to visit your favourite colleague guilt-free.”

“You were my favourite colleague. Then you abandoned me for your art.”

“You'd sell your own _mamie_ for a first edition _Don Quixote_.”

“No court in the land would convict me.”

Yusuf fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “You speak any Italian, Book?”

“I'm fluent in Don Corleone.”

“Helpful.”  
  
“Why, you looking to make someone an offer they can't refuse?”

Yusuf shook his head. “You're lucky friendship is everything.”  
  
Booker laughed and then suddenly adopted a stage-whisper. “Wait, is this to do with the hot priest? He Italian?”

“You should get back to your kids.”

“You're right,” Booker called out to the boys. “ _Hé! Mes marmots! Oncle Yusuf a rencontré un beau gosse!_ ”

There were shouts in the background. Yusuf groaned internally. “I'm retracting your invitation.”

“See you soon, _mec_.” Booker hung up.

Yusuf tossed his phone into the sofa cushions and went back to watching the rest of the match. Why his friends insisted on making everything so sordid he didn't know. Wasn't it enough for him to just be in an ongoing grudge match with a man with an impressive knowledge of religious history without them making it weird? This was really very normal behaviour for someone in his position. How often did you run into something who knew as much about medieval art as a college professor?

He could practically hear Nile's, “Uh-huh,” in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's left me a comment or kudos :D I can't promise I'll keep updating this quickly but I'll try my damnedest!
> 
> Let me know if any of the references or French need explaining - what makes sense in my head doesn't always translate onto paper. The title is a bastardisation of a line from The Godfather.
> 
> As requested:  
> "Je sais pas! Peut-être dans le placard?” = I don't know! Maybe in the cupboard?
> 
> "Hé! Mes marmots! Oncle Yusuf a rencontré un beau gosse!" = Hey! Kids! Uncle Yusuf's met a hot guy!"


	3. Careful fear and dead devotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuf sees an opportunity to win an argument and ends up getting a lot more than he bargained for...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a few heavy chapters in this story and this is one of them. Ultimately everything is going to be a-okay but *slams roof of car* these bad boys can fit so many emotions in them. Trigger warnings in the end notes.
> 
> The title is from Don't Swallow the Cap by The National (and it won't be the last!).
> 
> The Guardian article mentioned is [here.](https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2020/aug/13/looted-landmarks-notre-dame-big-ben-st-marks-east-stealing-from-the-saracens)
> 
> Shout out to [Awenna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awenna/pseuds/Awenna) for fine-tuning my French in the last chapter and [Luna101](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna101/profile) for her reassurance.

There wasn't really a good way to start a text chain with a man you met two days ago who, for some reason, made you throw out all sense of calm and decorum whenever he voiced an opinion. There definitely wasn't a good way to start a text chain with a _priest_.

Yusuf liked to take Friday afternoons off after Jummah so once he'd wolfed down some leftovers Nile waved him off with a promise to get to the bottom of which student had arranged the booze-up in halls the night before. “Thursday is the new Friday.” She remarked through a grimace as she considered her suspects.

He went to one of the local parks and sat with a limonana and his sketch book, He spent most of the afternoon trying to get the angles on a landscape right before playing to his strengths and pencilling out some portraits. An old man feeding the birds with rheumatic slowness. The kids playing by the fountain before their mother called them home for Shabbat. Then from memory, a man with short hair, dark bags under his eyes, and a watchful look. _I wonder who that could be?_ He closed the book and snapped the elastic band around it, pulling out his phone.

There was a text from Andy.

 _Not to enable you but..._ Followed by link to a Guardian article outlining a new book about Islamic architecture.

Yusuf skimmed through the article and all but punched the air. he quickly copied the link into a message to Nicolò and after numerous rewrites ( _Texting new people is always this hard, okay? … Right?_ ) he simply added the words: _We're going_.

-

After an evening of back and forth arranging timings and exact meeting places Nicolò arrived at the Dome of the Rock feeling a little keyed up. Jumpy, for some reason. Probably the anticipation of having to fight the good fight again. He was early, as usual, and kept checking his phone to make sure he was in the right place. The small icon of Yusuf, again in the backwards cap and sunglasses, smiling at him through the screen. The next time he looked up he spotted the man himself striding towards him. Yusuf was literally rubbing his hands together with glee.

“Hey Nicolò.”

“Hello.”

“Are you ready for this?”

Nicolò smiled and shook his head in amusement. “Please, enlighten me.”

Yusuf led them in and began walking him around pointed out pieces of architecture and artwork.

“When Christians discovered it they thought it was the Temple of Solomon. Because obviously Muslims couldn't create anything this impressive or beautiful.”

“To be fair, it is built on the Temple Mount.”

“And then, to add insult to injury the Romans destroyed it in the Siege of Jerusalem. And then the Crusaders came... .” He walked them into the middle and stepped behind Nicolò, putting his hand on his shoulders to adjust his position. Then, quietly, reverently, he said, “Look up.”

Even if Nicolò had wanted to deny the building's beauty he couldn't have. It was incredible. The colours, the intricate patterns.

“It's... wondrous.”

“Yes,” Nicolò turned to face Yusuf, who was now stood in front of him, watching his reaction. “Yes, it is.” There was a pause and then that now familiar smile appeared around Yusuf's eye. “So of course Christian architect's went and copied it.”

“Well, they say imitation is the greatest form of flattery.”

“That only really works with other white people. When you invade another country to try and 'civilise' its people by murdering them we just call it stealing.”

Nicolò dropped his gaze. He couldn't really argue with that. He was all too well aware of the atrocities the Latin Church had committed in the name of the God he served. _Is that what you're doing here, Nicolò? Serving God?_

“Also the inscriptions literally mock the Trinity so they played themselves really.”

Nicolò laughed and looked at him. “Well,” he looked back up at the ceiling. “It really is very beautiful. Thank you for showing me.”

Yusuf started walking towards the exit and said, so softly Nicolò almost missed it. “You're welcome.”

They walked around the outside, admiring the iridescent blue tiles. “You know, I've been here before.”

“What?” Yusuf almost came to a dead stop but caught himself and kept pace with Nicolò. “Seriously?”

Nicolò nodded. “Many years ago.”

“Then why did you let me bring you here?”

“I wanted to see it as you see it,” he tried to explain. The language barrier and his own uncertainty of why making it hard to put into words. “And I'd only seen the outside.”

“So you've been to Jerusalem before?”

“Once, when I was preparing for my ordination,” he took a deep breath. “I- I've actually been thinking of leaving the priesthood.” This time Yusuf did really stop. “That's why I came here... to try and remember why I... why I became a priest.”

“Nicolò, I'm so sorry. If I'd known... I know I can come down a bit hard.”

Nicolò smiled, shook his head. “No, it's alright. That's not... it's complicated.” _Is that what we're calling it these days?_ “And if my faith couldn't stand up to your meagre arguments it wouldn't be worth much.”

Yusuf laughed, putting a hand on Nicolò's shoulder briefly. “Oh, is that how it is?”

They walked in silence for a while as they headed down towards the Eastern Wall. Without meeting his eye Yusuf asked, “Can I ask why?” And then hurriedly followed up with. “You don't have to answer that.”

 _This should be good_.

Nicolò stopped, took in a breath. He could feel himself shaking slightly around it. He placed his hands on the warm stone of the structure. “A young man at my church. Giovanni. He, uh, he tried to kill himself.” He didn't look up at Yusuf but he could feel his eyes on him like the heat of the sun. “His parents wouldn't even go and see him in the hospital. He's alright, he's with friends but...” _Yes, Nicolò?_ “It made me question... it made me think about why I joined the church in the first place.”

“Why did you?”

Nicolò turned to face Yusuf. He couldn't imagine what his face must look like but he could feel the set of his jaw, the tremble in his hands, the hollowed-out space in his chest. Yusuf was looking at him with a gentleness Nicolò hadn't seen before, on his face of anyone's. “I was very young. I thought I could do some good. I thought it was the only way I could live a good life.”

 _You'll tell him this much, but not the rest?_ Nicolò turned round and leaned his back against the wall. _What are you afraid of, Nicolò?_

“And now?” The sun made the golden flecks in the brown of Yusuf's eyes shine almost as brightly as the dome on the hill above them.

“I don't know,” _Liar_. “I talked to my dean and we agreed I should take some time off. Not rush into anything.”

“I mean, do you still want to be a priest?”

Nicolò stared at him, knocking his back against the bricks a few times. “I want to want to be a priest.” Yusuf exhaled audibly. “I know. I know that's not the same thing but... this is the only thing I've ever known.”

Yusuf didn't say anything for a while. “I don't know what it's like to be a priest or to have to make this kind of decision but... I do know it's possible to have faith in many different ways. If my Dad were still around he probably wouldn't approve of how I keep mine. He'd say I was half-arsing it or something.” He smiled sadly. “But I know I believe and I know Allah knows that and I don't think it's up to anyone else to say that your faith is... lacking somehow because you're not ticking everything off on some sort of holy to-do list.” He smiled. “I don't know if I'm explaining myself well. I just think... you can serve God and do good in the world without being a priest. I don't think it's a case of one or the other.”

Nicolò realised he was staring at the other man and looked away. “You have a very romantic way of looking at life.”

“You think I'm naïve?”

“No,” Nicolò shook his head. “No, I think you see the world like you see art.” Yusuf put his head on one side. “You see the beauty even in the ugly parts of history. I find it hard to look past the painful pieces.”

-

As they stood on the old walls of the city and Nicolò carefully deconstructed his own first line of defence, Yusuf listened and tried to offer what little he could in the way of encouragement and advice. When they'd first met, after the initial head-butting, he had been able to see how cautious Nicolò was, how he held himself at a distance to other people as though they were rabbit-hearted and skittish. That if made any sudden moves they'd run. And the sadness that seemed to go hand in hand with that distance. He knew the battle-ready Nicolò who would lunge and parry and who could put Yusuf on the back foot with a sentence. And then there was the quiet, slow to smile, fast to frown Nicolò who so often seemed to be there. But as they slowly made their way back through the Old Town Yusuf saw a another dimension of the man.

A child being walked along by it's parent, gazing up and smiling at everyone who passed by, looked up at Nicolò and waved.

“Shalom.”

The smile that smoothed out every line of anxiety on Nicolò's face was so genuine and open it was almost startling. Nicolò waved back and returned the greeting. It was a small but perfect little moment in which Yusuf saw the sweet and kind nature it seemed Nicolò was trying so hard to hide. To keep guarded.

How could this man ever think he wasn't bringing good into the world? How could he think he wasn't so much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: There's a reference to a third character having previously attempted suicide but no details.


	4. God's Favourite Customer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolò goes to mass and has thoughts. Yusuf goes for coffee and has feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from a song of the same name by Father John Misty.
> 
> The Hebrew is based on what little I learnt on a languages course five years ago, which consisted mostly of the teacher and I saying "Mah shlomcha?”" "Tov. Mah shlomcha?” "Tov. Mah shlomcha?” back and forth for about half an hour. So if anyone can correct the mistakes I've almost certainly made please do!
> 
> I may be a bit slower to upload during the week but don't worry, I'm not done with these boys yet.

When Nicolò had arrived in Jerusalem one of the first thing's he'd done was find the nearest Catholic church to where he was staying. _Gotta keep up the fiction, eh?_ So the day after he told Yusuf he was thinking about leaving the church, Nicolò went to church.

The service was in Hebrew but Nicolò had led enough masses to follow along. Knew when to sit, knew when to stand, knew when to say amen. The only problem was that being in church made him think about being in church and being able to let the unfamiliar language wash over him like music meant his mind was able to wander. _You've got to think about it sometime._ Mostly he replayed the conversation from the day before. How he'd unlocked his ribcage and shown someone inside. Shown Yusuf inside. Other than the dean he hadn't told anyone else about his doubts. He was sure other people knew – Simone must have been given some sort of explanation, and there were certainly higher-ups who would have been informed – but he hadn't _told_ anyone else. For some reason, not only did Yusuf bring out the fight in him, he also seemed to bring out everything else. _Well, not everything._

Something about saying it out loud to Yusuf had made it seem more real somehow. When he'd convinced himself out of bed and into the shower that morning he'd spent a solid minute with his head against the cold tiles trying not to panic. Was he really going to leave the only job, the only version of adult life he'd known? What about the parish? What about Signora Monica and the Guerra family? What would the dean say? His parents?

_What about Giovanni?_

Nicolò ran his hands over his face. The service was drawn to a close, giving him the opportunity to go outside and lean against the wall and think. But he could only one thought running through his head. _Fuck fuck fuck_.

He pulled out his phone and before he realised what he was doing he'd opened up WhatsApp and started typing a message to Yusuf.

_Are you working tomorrow?_

He closed his eyes and hit send. Put his phone back in his pocket and tilted his head back against the brickwork. He felt as scared as he'd been as a teenager, before his future narrowed down to one safe option. How the church had at once condemned and consoled him. How what he came to understand made him itch from the inside out but how the certain and static routine of mass felt like a calm and soothing balm. He could recite the entire Eucharist before he even considered taking Holy Orders. The possibility of forgiveness, of absolution. How could a person like him say no to that?

His phone buzzed against his leg. Yusuf.

_Yes but I have a late start if you want to grab a coffee._

Nicolò stared at his phone, chewing over his thoughts. Another message came through.

 _I should warn you. I'm a morning person. So don't expect me to go easy on you_.

Nicolò smiled to himself. He'd worried that now, after his confession, Yusuf might treat him with kids gloves. The last thing he wanted was to be looked at with pity. Especially by him. He typed out a quick retort.

_I've been holding 6am mass for seven years. I reckon I can still give you a run for your money._

There was an almost instantaneous response: _Pistols at dawn it is_.

 _There's a place near where I'm staying. I'll send you the address_.

_Cool. 9am too early?_

_Perfect. See you then._

_I look forward to it_.

Nicolò didn't know what to say to that. _Making friends, are we?_ So he closed his phone and, feeling not insignificantly lighter, he headed off on one of the many long walks he liked to take. Something else he'd done since he was a teenager. Walk and walk and walk until maybe he'd find some answers. He felt fractionally closer to... something. But what he couldn't say.

-

The flatNicolò was renting was on the third floor of a small block on a leafy road. When Yusuf arrived he dropped the other man a quick text.

_Just outside. No rush._

A few moments later he heard a voice from above.

“Hey.” He looked up and saw Nicolò waving at him from a window. “I'll be right down.”

“Take your time!” Yusuf called back up as Nicolò disappeared back inside.

The sun was already beating down so while he waited Yusuf pulled his cap out of his back pocket. Nile's assessment rang in his ears, “You look like such a dweeb.” He quickly swivelled it the right way round.

“Good morning.” Nicolò called over from where he was holding the door open for one of his neighbours and then wandered over to Yusuf's side. His hair was wet and he had a smear of suncream along his chin. Yusuf wanted to say something but when he opened his mouth it was oddly dry. _What? It's a hot day_. So he pointed instead, allowing Nicolò to rub it away.

Yusuf cleared his throat. “ _Ciao._ ”

Nicolò beamed, “ _Salve._ ” He pointed up the street. “It's just up here.”

Yusuf followed him to a cart run by a woman who looked to be in her late 50s. They got in line behind a man in a sharp suit and Yusuf cast his eye over the menu board.

“The mark up's... not great.”

Nicolò gave him a conspiratorial smile. “Galli's worth it.” The man ahead of them collected his order and hurried off. Nicolò stepped forward. The woman gave him a warm smile. “ _Boker tov, Nicky._ _Mah shlomcha?_ ”

“ _Mamash tov, toda. Mah shlomech?_ ”

“ _B'seder_. Coffee?”

“ _Ken_.” Yusuf stared at Nicolò as he turned to him. “What would you like?”

“Uh, whatever you're having.”

“Two lattes, Galli. _Toda_.”

Galli busied herself preparing their drinks.

“You speak Hebrew?”

Nicolò gave him a quick look, clearly amused by Yusuf's surprised expression.

“Not even remotely.”

He pulled out his wallet and Yusuf caught his hand.

“I can pay.”

“I don't mind.”

“I'm not taking money from a priest.”

Nicolò made a face. “Because academics get paid so well.”

“Ok,” Yusuf acquiesced. “But I'm getting the next one.”

Nicolò handed over some shekels. His ears had gone pink, Yusuf noticed. Surely he couldn't have burnt already. “ _Kol tuv_.”

Galli hand them their coffees and waved them off.

“For someone who doesn't speak any Hebrew, you speak a lot of Hebrew.”

The other man sipped at his coffee and smiled. “I Googled some phrases before I arrived.”

Yusuf stopped himself from commenting on how weird it was to hear a priest talk about Googling. Nicolò had seemed alright after their chat the other day but he wasn't the most effusive person at the best of times. It seemed safer not to make a casual remark that could potential leave a bruise. Instead he turned to the other thing that had surprised him.

“Did she call you Nicky?” Nicolò blushed. “You're on a pet-name basis with your barista already?”

“I drink a lot of coffee.”

Yusuf didn't believe that for a second. He could just imagine Nicolò unintentionally endearing himself to the older woman with his soft smiles and his kind heart. Because that was Nicolò's overwhelming characteristic. Stumbling his way through Hebrew phrases to order coffee from a street vendor when he could get it cheaper literally anywhere else. Yusuf was reminded of the way he shared his lunch with stray cats in the park, how he waved at small children with a smile and a greeting of peace.

“How is Nile?”

Yusuf was broken out of his reverie. “Oh, she's fine. Keeping the undergrads in line. She's heading back to Paris on Wednesday.”

“Will you miss her?”

“Well, I won't miss the undergrads she's taking back with her!” Yusuf laughed. "We'll stay in touch – she likes to keep an eye on me – and I'll see her soon. Anyway, maybe you can keep me company while she's gone.” He bumped his shoulder against Nicolò's and then felt tremendously awkward about what he'd just said and tried to backtrack. “I mean, until my other friends come to visit.”

Nicolò looked down at his half-finished coffee. “So... we're friends?”

Yusuf studied his face carefully and said gently. “Of course we are... _Nicky_.”

Nicolò blushed even redder somehow and gave him one of his sweet little smiles.

“Okay, good.”

He looked so pleased and so shy and nervous. Yusuf had the sudden and overwhelming urge to kiss him. _Oh no_ , he thought. _Oh shit. Hot priest! Hot priest!_

-

Having survived the rest of their walk without completely falling over himself, Yusuf left Nicolò with a falafel recommendation and well wishes for his day of sightseeing. As he made his way to meet Nile at the U. Nahon Museum all he could think was about how he would never hear the end of this if his friends ever got wind of his... wasn't he too old to have a crush?

He groaned internally. How on earth had this happened? He hadn't done more than glance at the occasional guy for the last few years and then the moment he decided to look beyond his sketchbook for more than five minutes he set his sights on a priest. Was Nicolò really that good-looking ( _Yes._ ) that Yusuf was able to completely bypass the part of his brain that told you not to get attached to unattainable men?

The last thing he needed right now was to spend the rest of the day with a bunch of distracted twenty-somethings. But what was he going to do instead? Sit in his flat and pine? _Sure, that's what you'll be doing later_. Maybe it would be a good distraction.

-

Yusuf knew the museum well enough that he and Nile were able to tag-team their way around it without him having to expend too much mental energy. Occasionally he'd pause too long before answering a question and sometimes he'd go back into a big gay panic between different rooms and floors before pulling it together in the nick of time. At one point he jumped when he didn't realise Marine had sidled up to him to ask him a question she definitely already knew the answer too. Nile gave him a weird look but when he mouthed a slightly desperate “Help me” in her direction she just rolled her eyes and came to his rescue.

Once they'd finished the tour and sent the students off to explore the rest of the museum, or more likely, the pub, Nile rounded on him.

“What's going on with you?”

“What? Nothing.” Yusuf pretended to be really interested in a sign on the wall next to them.

“That the fire safety notice, Yusuf.”

“I'm very passionate about our students' safety.”

“It's in Hebrew.”

He winced. “So it is.”

“Come on, man. Talk to me. Your hat's even on the right way for Christ sake.”

“It's really nothing.” _Oh, it's something alright._

“Uh-huh.”

“I'm worried about my next grant application?”

“As if Copley would dare turn down one of Andy's favourite researchers.” Despite his initial instructions to turn a profit on the department, their college bursar had almost immediately withered under Andy's stony gaze when he'd suggested making cutbacks. “Don't make me text your mum, Yusuf.”

The last time Morriam had visited Yusuf in Paris she'd taken a particularly strong-liking to Nile. And who wouldn't? She was whip-smart and almost aggressively competent but was also one of the most caring people Yusuf had ever met. Morriam considered her as good as family and Yusuf was fairly sure Nile exchanged as many emails with his mother as he did. So it wasn't an idle threat.

“Ok, but you have to promise me you won't tell Booker.”

-

Yusuf stalled, making endless caveats of “I know this is stupid” and “It's probably not that big of a deal” and it was only when they had made their way into Independence Park that Nile's patience ran thin and she told him to spit it out.

After he'd told her she made a “huh” sound and took a swig from her water bottle. “So, in summation-”

“Hot priest, yeah.”

“That's... I mean-”

“It's silly. I feel like Marine or something.”

“Please never compare yourself to any of our students ever again.”

“I can respect that.”

“Though that may be accurate,” she teased. “Could you have picked a less available person?”

Yusuf sighed. “It wasn't a conscious decision.”

“Imagine what you could do if you put your mind to it.”

“It doesn't bear thinking about.”

“So, I trust I don't need to remind you of the implications of him being a priest.”

 _He might not be for much longer_ , Yusuf thought. And then immediately felt guilty about it.

“This is a nightmare.”

“I don't know. You're married to your work. He's married to God. You're kind of perfect for each other.”

Yusuf laughed. “I sure know how to pick 'em.”

They walked around the park in quiet contemplation for a while, weight the gravity of the situation. “Are you going to be alright? Once I've gone back home, I mean.”

“Are you asking if I'm going to make a pass at a priest the moment you set foot in duty-free?”

“Pretty much.”

“I think I can control myself.”

“But seriously?” The concern in her voice was palpable. “Will you be alright?”

“I'm a big boy, Nile, I can look after myself.”

“I'm not touching that one.”

“Ha ha,” Yusuf retorted drily. “Are you going-”

“I won't tell Booker,” she assured him. “But maybe you should. Beneath that rugged exterior of nihilistic delusion and latent alcoholism he really cares about you.”

Traditional masculinity dictated that Yusuf deny this but he knew she was right. Booker could act like he didn't care but he was first on the scene when Quynh decided she and Andy needed some “time apart”. He loved nothing more than to tease his friends half senseless but God help the fool that so much as looked at one of them the wrong way.

“I'll... I'll think about it,” Yusuf took of his cap to run his hand through his curls, before replacing it. “I'm still sort of hoping it'll just go away.”

But he knew well enough it wouldn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With any luck the Hebrew translates to:  
> "Boker tov, Nicky. Mah shlomcha?” = Hello Nicky. How are you?  
> “Mamash tov, toda. Mah shlomech?” = "I'm good thanks, how are you?"  
> “B'seder = Okay.  
> “Ken.” = Yes.  
> "Toda." = Thank you.  
> “Kol tuv.” = Goodbye. (Literally: Be well.)


	5. Patron Saint of Silent Restraint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolò is pressed to make a decision about his future and Yusuf continues to be a disaster gay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is a line from Weights & Measures by Dry the River.
> 
> I'm kind of under the weather so I really hope this isn't a complete disaster. That's also why I haven't replied to everyone's nice comments yet but I'll get round it them soon, I swear. Chapter 6 may take a bit longer as I may have to spend the next few days asleep but I'll post on [my Tumblr](https://nashtag.tumblr.com/) if that's going to be the case.
> 
> Trigger warnings in the end notes.

Nicolò spent an ungodly amount of time stressing over whether or not he should send Yusuf the words “That was the best falafel of my life”. He had to remind himself again and again that it was okay to text someone about something they had specifically recommended to you. That it wouldn't be 'weird' or 'over familiar'. That no-one could possibly read as much into a text about falafel as him. And Yusuf had said they were friends, hadn't he? Friends texted each other.

_Is that what you want, Nicolò? A friend?_

His phone informed him that Yusuf had read the message almost as soon as he'd sent it and on a few occasions it announced 'Yusuf is typing' but no reply came. He felt like he was going mad.

Nicolò was deeply invested in a chapter of his book when he heard his ringtone. He almost launched the book across the room as he scrambled to retrieve his phone.

_What did I tell you?_

Quickly followed by.

_Nile and I are having dinner tomorrow as it's her last night here. Want to join?_

Nicolò couldn't type his reply fast enough. _That would be lovely_.

Did people say lovely? Was that a thing people said? Or was it just old women in English murder mystery programs?

Yusuf texted him the details and, in a moment of reckless abandon Nicolò sent back simply:

_:)_

He stared down at his monstrous creation before closing his eyes in despair. _What have you done?_

Why couldn't he just be normal? _You're not going to like the answer to that one_.

He rested his head on one of his hands and tried to go back to his book but kept getting distracted. Checking to make sure that, for whatever reason, his phone hadn't failed to notify him of a response.

The fifth time he checked he noticed he had an email. From the dean.

He stood up, pushing his chair back, and circled the small room. Nicolò ran his hand through his hair. Went to the window and stared out at the city that was supposed to be his salvation. He'd known this was coming. _Can't run forever_.

Nicolò poured himself a glass of water, emptied it in one go, poured another. He sat back down to open the email. He needn't have bothered. He already knew what it was going to say.

_Hope you are well … reassuring the parish … we don't want to rush you … are you any closer to reaching a decision?_

His chest felt empty and his throat felt full. _What doesn't kill you..._ .

Nicolò remembered hearing the news about Giovanni from Signor Guerra. He thought about all the people that had let the boy down. Him most of all. How he'd failed him before he'd even met him. _You failed him the day you decided to hide behind God._

He grabbed his keys off the table and headed out the door, leaving his phone on the table.

Nicolò headed off on one of the many walking routes he'd found around the city. He missed home. He missed the distant roar of waves and the feeling of the wind off the bay burning his skin. He missed the simplicity. _Can a lie ever be simple?_

He kept walking despite the heat, despite his thirst. And nothing special happened. Nothing was said or done. He was just walking when something dislodged itself from its home within his ribs. A big part of him that, for a long time, he'd kept small.

At first he thought he'd choke on it. But once it was free, he realised he could finally let go a breath he'd been holding for eighteen years. It hurt. But in the same way it hurt to press down on a bruise. Followed by the relief of letting go. Acknowledging the pain and then enjoying it's absence. Almost like the way Yusuf saw the world. The bruises ached, yes, but they could make some magnificent colours.

By the time he made it back home he had made a decision. _Did you ever have_ _a choice?_

Nicolò let himself back into his little flat. The empty walls and minimal furnishings no longer looked clinical and sad. They looked like a blank canvas, waiting to be filled.

He stuck his head under the kitchen tap and drank. Something he hadn't done since he was told off for it as a teenager. _Oh, that's not what Mum'll be angry about_. Nicolò wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve and picked his phone up off the table. He had a message. He knew it was from Yusuf before he'd even opened it.

 _:) Can't wait_.

Nicolò smiled. Maybe this wasn't an end. Maybe it was a beginning.

-

Yusuf was still with Nile when he got the text from Nicolò about the falafel joint he'd recommended. He drafted about nineteen replies before Nile took pity on him.

“Oh my God, just invite him for dinner already.”

After she'd assured him she didn't mind having a potentially argumentative Italian man at her last dinner in town Yusuf typed out the text and then chewed on his thumbnail the whole way home. _He's a priest, Yusuf. It's not like anything's going to happen._ He was still trying to remind himself of this fact as he picked out a shirt the next morning. And then he'd been so full of nervous energy all day he'd sweat through the last clean button-up he had.

When he opened the door to Nile that evening he was wearing the only vaguely presentable thing he had left.

“Is that your running shirt?”

Yusuf winced. “Can you tell?”

“It has a Nike symbol on the sleeve.”

“ _Shit_.”

Nile patted him on the arm. “It's a good colour though. Blue suits you.”

She helped him finish getting dinner ready. Every now and again glancing up at him from across the kitchen. “Stop freaking out.”

“I'm not freaking out.”

“I can hear your brain freewheeling from over here.” She sighed and put down the knife she'd been holding. “Look, not to be completely brutal but-” She smiled sadly and shrugged. “He's a priest. I get that the heart wants what the head can't convince it not to but, Yusuf, he can't reciprocate your... anything.” Yusuf usually appreciated Nile's matter-of-fact honesty but right now he really wished she wasn't so damn smart. _Or so damn right_. “I know it's tough but at least that kind of takes the pressure off, right? You don't have to worry about impressing him.”

“Are you suggesting he's not already impressed by me?”

Nile shook her head fondly. “I thought you mostly argued.”

 _I could argue with that man for the rest of my life_. Yusuf groaned and put his head on the counter. “I'm so screwed.”

The doorbell went and Yusuf's head snapped up, startling Nile. “Jesus Christ.”

Yusuf stopped himself from running to answer the intercom, allowing him to preserve the last shred of his dignity. _Sure you did, sport_.

After he'd buzzed Nicolò in he stood and fidgeted in front of the door. From the kitchen he heard Nile mutter, “Bro, chill.”

There was a gentle knock on the door and Yusuf looked over at his PhD student who threw her hands up in despair. He opened the door and Nicolò was stood there. _Damn_. He looked exactly as he always did. And that was the problem. He was as ridiculously attractive as he always was. Tentative and soft. In his standard button-down but with one less button done up than usual. _And you know that how, Yusuf?_ The arch of his collar bone was just visible. Yusuf wondered how it would feel to trace it with his fingers.

Yusuf had noticed that Nicolò's jaw moved in this just perfect way when he smiled. And he was smiling at Yusuf right now, as he stood in his doorway cautiously brandishing a bottle of wine. _Fuck._ How was Yusuf meant to get through the next five seconds without kissing this man? Nevermind the entire evening. _You're staring._

“Hey,” Yusuf cleared his throat. “Come in.”

Nicolò did as he was told and Yusuf shut the door before following him down to where he was greeting Nile.

“It's nice to see you again.”

“You too,” Nile smiled. “And you brought wine!”

“Oh, yes,” Nicolò handed her the bottle. “I hope red is okay.”

“Red is perfect,” she turned to Yusuf. “I think your rice is about to boil over.”

If only it were just the rice.

-

Yusuf was a decent enough cook, even if he said so himself. But this evening he barely tasted the food. As Nicolò asked Nile about her research, listening attentively as she explained, Yusuf watched him surreptitiously. He memorised the shape of the man's nose. Studied the way his shoulders moved when he sat back in his chair. By the end of the meal Yusuf knew the exact distance between the line of Nicolò's jaw and the mole on his left cheek; could have drawn the man in his sleep. _You've not seen all of him yet._

Yusuf made himself get up and refill the water jug to stop himself gawping. _You. Are. So. Fucked._ When he sat back down Nile was asking about Nicolò's family.

“Where do your parents live?”

Regardless of how he felt about the religious aspects of his job, Nicolò was clearly an excellent pastor. There was an ease to which he talked to people, listened to them. He genuinely cared about their answers. But when the questions were turned on him there was a subtle shift. A part of him closed off, retreated.

“Just outside Genoa.” Yusuf had never seen Nicolò back down from a fight before but on this occasion he deflected. “What about you, Yusuf?"

“It's just me and my mum. She's still in Marrakesh.”

“Do you miss it? Morocco?”

Yusuf shifted uneasily in his seat. “Sometimes, yes.”

“Do you think you'd ever move back there?”

Yusuf almost laughed. “My mum would never let me.”

Nicolò frowned, confused. “Why not?”

“She can be very protective.”

“I don't understand.”

 _Oh shit, here we go_. “Because I'm gay.”

The room went very still. Yusuf had promised himself he would always look people in the eye when he told them. Refuse to be ashamed, dare them to suggest he should be. He tried to hold Nicolò's gaze, but the other man looked down at his plate. Yusuf glanced over at Nile, expecting her to be looking at him but instead she was staring intently at Nicolò. Ready to fight.

“Is that a problem?”

Nicolò looked up quickly and when he spoke it was quiet but certain. “No, it's not a problem.”

“Good.” Satisfied, Nile refilled Nicolò's glass.

For some reason, Yusuf felt awkward. Normally he had no reservations about telling people who he was. _Normally you aren't coming out to a priest. A priest you have a crush on._ But he felt the need to move the conversation on and so launched into an anecdote about Morriam's first trip to Paris. How she'd helped some British tourists buy a ticket for the RER because she'd lost patience watching them struggle with the machine.

“They assumed she was a local and asked for directions. She had to tell them she'd only been in the city for less than an hour!”

This seemed to break the strange tension that had threatened to ruin the evening and they carried on sharing stories. About the city, Andy, Booker, Booker's kids. Nicolò smiled and laughed at all the right moments but otherwise remained quiet, withdrawn. Eventually Nile looked at her watch and swore.

“I should go.”

“I'll call you a cab.”

Nicolò said he should probably be heading home too so they all headed down to the street together.

As the car drew up Yusuf pulled Nile into a hug that almost lifted her off the pavement.

“Text me when you land.”

“Okay, _Dad_.” Nile's tone was mocking but she smiled fondly at Yusuf before turning to Nicolò. “Keep an eye on him for me, eh?”

Nicolò opened his mouth as if to say something, then seemed to change his mind, before responding. “It was so nice to meet you, Nile.”

She gave Yusuf a sly look. “Oh, I have a feeling we'll meet again.”

As the taxi pulled away Nicolò made as if to leave.

“Thanks for dinner.”

“I'll walk you home.”

“It's not far.”

“Exactly.”

“But-”

“I could do with stretching my legs.”

For a while they wandered through the cool of the evening together. Yusuf loved cities at night. The clamour of so much happening reduced to stillness by the simple absence of light.

“Yusuf.”

“Hmm?”

“I know I might have seemed shocked when you told me that- that you-”

“That I'm gay?”

Nicolò pinked slightly. “I don't want you to think...” He didn't say anything for a moment and Yusuf was about to interrupt when he said carefully. “Giovanni, the boy at my church I told you about. That's why he tried to hurt himself.”

“Oh. Fuck.”

Yusuf had been prepared to get defensive. He hadn't wanted to believe that Nicolò would have a problem with him (or anyone else for that matter) being gay but the way he'd acted since Yusuf had told him had worried him. Now his reaction made sense.

“I wouldn't want you to think... it's not a problem I have with you,” Nicolò swallowed. “It's a problem I have with me.”

“It's okay, I understand.” _Do you?_

“Do you?” Nicolò's voice was hoarse when he next spoke. “I never told him that being gay was wrong or that he... but I never told him it wasn't, either.”

“It's not your fault, Nicolò.”

Nicolò shook his head. “If anyone should have helped him it was me.”

“It's not all on you, Nicolò.” He could tell the other man was about to disagree and parried instinctively. “It's not your job to save everyone.”

The other man looked at him strangely and Yusuf had the feeling he'd just missed something important. That in his eagerness to speak he'd forgotten to listen.

“And now I've told you something that wasn't mine to tell.”

Yusuf sighed. “Do you ever give yourself a break? I know the kid's first name and that he lives somewhere in Liguria. I don't think you'd exactly broken GDPR.”

Nicolò smiled slightly. “Still.”

“Anyway, can't you just forgive yourself? What happened to that direct line to head office?”

“I'm not sure they're taking my calls these days.” He looked so sad. Yusuf wanted to reach out and take his hand and never let go.

“Well, if heaven won't absolve you then I will.”

Nicolò laughed. “If only it were that simple."

They came to a stop outside Nicolò's building. For the space of a few heartbeats, Yusuf looked into his eyes. Those sea green eyes. He could drown in them.

A small smile twitched at the corner of Nicolò's mouth. “Goodnight, Yusuf.”

Yusuf waited until the other man had disappeared from his view before turning and heading home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: It's mentioned that a third party has attempted suicide because they're struggling with being gay.


	6. A prayer for which no words exist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolò has thoughts AND feelings. Yusuf takes him swimming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from You Are Jeff by Richard Siken.
> 
> "Brian is in the kitchen" is a reference to a Gad Elmaleh sketch.
> 
> Shout out to [Awenna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awenna/pseuds/Awenna) for spotting my typos in Chapter 5.

Even after he'd made his decision, it took Nicolò two days to work up the courage to reply to the dean's email. Yusuf had said that he needed to try and get through some work before his friends arrived the following week and Nicolò had found himself oddly listless without his company. He was worried that Yusuf had taken his reaction at dinner to heart. Or that Yusuf was bored of him. Or, worse, disgusted by him. After a day of failing to distract himself with reading, with the sights of the city, he turned to the other thing that was bothering him.

He pulled up email on his phone and typed the response out slowly. It kept turning into an apology and he needed it to be a conviction. Rip the plaster off. Leave no room for doubt.

Everything he wrote left the unanswered question. Why? And that was something he'd never written down. Never said out loud. And yet, somehow, people had known. The other boys at school giving him a wide berth. His father refusing to hug him. The way he'd catch his mother looking at him with such regret.

Before he'd had a word for what he was he'd known he was wrong.

In the end he didn't give a reason. He could figure out how to explain later, but he couldn't spend another minute with the weight of this hanging over him. He hit send. And that was that.

_Now what?_

-

It was a particularly hot night. The place he was renting didn't have air conditioning and the air was so still, as though Nicolò's decision had becalmed the city. Like the old fishermen back home used to talk about. Those who displeased God bringing curses upon ships. A Jonah.

Between the heat and the low boil panic in his chest, Nicolò knew he wasn't going to get to sleep any time soon. He took his phone from the night-stand, careful to open WhatsApp quickly before he had a chance to see if he had any email notifications. The last thing Yusuf had messaged him about was to do with something he'd found about Umayyad architectural design, a reference to their visit to the Dome of the Rock. It left him open to a counterpoint about Byzantine influence but Nicolò had only managed to send a halfhearted response. He hadn't had a reply since.

However hard he tried, he couldn't compose anything particular witty, so Nicolò settled on something simple.

_It's ridiculously hot._

Yusuf replied almost immediately.

_I thought Italians were meant to be able to handle the heat._

_Yeah, but this is a desert._

There was a pause.

_I just checked Wikipedia. Israel has a Mediterranean climate._

_Wikipedia? You disappoint me._

_:P_

Nicolò considered his next message. The light of his phone screen glowed blue in the dark.

 _I miss the sea_.

Yusuf didn't reply for a few minutes.

 _I have an idea_.

-

“Are you sure we're allowed to be here?”

Yusuf swung the gate open and winked at him. “Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

He'd given Nicolò an address and told him to bring his swimming costume. Nicolò had assumed they were going to some sort of municipal sports facility that kept unusual hours. Instead it turned out to be a hotel pool, closed for the evening. Yusuf had reached over the top of the gate to slide the bolt open and let them in. _Forgive us our trespasses_.

By the time Nicolò had carefully shut the gate behind them, Yusuf had already stripped down to his trunks and was slipping into the water. The yellow glow from the poolside lighting looked warm against his skin. He glanced over his shoulder at him, expectantly. Nicolò hadn't realised how many muscles there were on a person's back.

“Getting in?”

Nicolò stepped out of his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head. He waited for Yusuf to dip below the surface of the water before taking off his jeans. _Feeling shy, are we?_

He had always loved the feeling of diving into water. Not content to dip his toes in or gently acclimatise. Nicolò wanted the shock of cold hitting him all at one. The instantaneous transition from air to water. He moved to the end of the pool and, with a lazy racing start, launched himself into the pool. The city soundtrack vanished into the rush of water past his ear. The deep quietness only found underwater.

He surfaced to see Yusuf grinning at him. “Pretty good, huh?”

He smiled and leaned back to look up at the night. There was more light pollution here than back home but the feeling was the same. Almost as if he was floating in the sky.

“It's perfect.”

“Have you been to the Dead Sea?”

“No, not yet.”

“I'll take you.” Nicolò looked over but Yusuf had copied him and was floating on his back, staring into the heavens.

Nicolò rested his feet on the bottom of the pool, working up the nerve. Eventually Yusuf looked over and saw him standing there. He straightened up as well.

“I left the priesthood today.”

Yusuf's eyes didn't leave his face for some time. And then he slowly waded over and put his arms around him. Droplets of water from Yusuf's hands ran down Nicolò's back. One of them descended the course of his spine and he had to stop himself from sighing. Oh, he thought. _Oh._

He brought his hands up to return Yusuf's hug just as the other man pulled away. His fingers brushed against Yusuf's ribs as he took a step back.

“How are you feeling?”

Nicolò breathed out something that almost resembled a laugh. “Awful,” he had no idea what to do with his hands now. “But it's a relief. To have made the decision.”

“I don't really know what you're supposed to say when this happens.”

Nicolò really did laugh this time. “How about reassuring me I haven't completely ruined my life.”

“You haven't.” Yusuf almost reached out towards him again and Nicolò shivered slightly, anticipating the feeling of Yusuf's hand on his skin. “You haven't.”

“I hope not.”

“You'll figure it out.” Nicolò nodded. For better or worse, he was out. _Well, not quite_. “Should we do something?”

“What?”

“To celebrate? Or not celebrate but... I don't know, mark the occasion?”

“I honestly hadn't thought that far ahead.”

“It doesn't have to be big or anything.”

“Well, I suppose I do owe you dinner.”

Yusuf splashed some water at him. “You don't owe me anything.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “But dinner sounds great.”

“Okay, tomorrow?”

“I'll come by after work.”

Nicolò slid back down into the water and looked up at the moon where it was just visible behind the clouds.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Yusuf.”

“Of course.”

Nicolò heard the sound of rushing water and looked over to see Yusuf as he pushed himself up to sit on the side of the pool. Water fell off him in rivulets. He smiled over at him and Nicolò felt it like a kick in the stomach.

_Oh, you're really in it now._

-

Booker laughed maniacally for about ten minutes.

“It isn't funny.”

“Are you kidding? This is some 'Brian is in the kitchen' level shit.”

Yusuf put a hand over his face. “I only told you because Nile said you wouldn't be an arsehole about it but I guess she was wrong.”

“You have to admit it's a little funny.”

Yusuf sighed. “I can see how someone with zero empathy could potentially find this amusing.”

“Okay, okay,” Booker sounded like he was struggling to keep from laughing. “So you want to put the moves on a priest. Is that really so bad?”

“So... he's actually leaving the church.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah-”

“What did you _do_?”

“I didn't do anything! It's completely unrelated.”

“Dude, did you seduce a man of the cloth?”

“I'm never talking to you again.”

“A man dedicates his life to Jesus and then you come along and bam! He's getting all hot under the dog-collar.”

Yusuf pinched his brow. “Why do I hang out with you? You do nothing but cause me pain.”

Booker laughed and then turned more serious. “Look, how hard can he be to resist? He's a good church boy, he's not exactly going to make a pass at you.”

“That's the problem. He has no _idea_. He walks around with his t-shirts and his hair and his face while I go insane and he doesn't even realise.”

“You're right,” said Booker, in the driest voice imaginable. “That sounds terrible. What a monster. How could he.”

“Book, what am I going to do?”

“Get him drunk. See what happens.” Yusuf sighed audibly. “Just, try and keep it together until Andy and I arrive and then we can, I don't know, run interference.”

“Okay.”

“And maybe don't take him swimming again.”

“That's... fair.” Yusuf had already spent a lot of that day struggling to concentrate on work as the image of Nicolò without a shirt on repeatedly interrupted this thoughts.

“You going to be okay, buddy?”

Yusuf chewed on his thumbnail. “Oh, you know me.”

“Yeah, that's why I asked.”

Yusuf laughed. “Thanks, man. But you don't have to worry. I'll be fine.”

They said goodbye and hung up. Yusuf checked the time. He still had most of the afternoon to get some work done before he met Nicolò for dinner. All he had to do was not think about the man for the next three hours.

 _Okay, good luck with that_.


	7. Fearfully and wonderfully

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolò loses some sleep but Yusuf makes it up to him ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is a reference to Psalm 139.
> 
> Shout out to [g33kyclassic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/g33kyclassic/pseuds/g33kyclassic) for spotting my typo in chapter 6!
> 
> Thanks to [Lena_221b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lena_221b/pseuds/Lena_221b) for helping me with my French!
> 
> Trigger warnings in end notes.

Suffice to say, Nicolò did not get much sleep. The feeling had crept up on him like a sickness. He'd ignored the aches and pains, the warning signs, and now he was hit with the fever. _Why do you think they call it lovesick, dummy?_

He lay in bed replaying the hug, the feeling of Yusuf's hands on his skin. And other earlier moments too. All the casual intimacies. The way Yusuf would grin at him as though he'd just hung the moon in the sky. Did Yusuf look at everyone like that? But the idea that he liked Yusuf that much was overwhelming enough without entertaining the possibility he might like him too. He'd never really seen Yusuf around anyone other than Nile. Maybe he was like this with everyone. Maybe this is how normal people behaved. _And how would you know?_

Nicolò would try and push the thoughts away for the sake of his sanity and a good night's sleep. But his mind would always drift back. To try and look for clues when really he was sure there were none. Which would lead to him thinking about the brief sensation of his fingertips brushing Yusuf waist. And the dawning realisation that he wanted to touch him again.

He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. Embarrassed by his own thoughts. _You're never going to be able to do it if you can't even think about it._

-

After a fitful night of little rest and much internal chastisement, Nicolò forced himself up and made himself go about his day. He had planned to make a bolognese but after a desperate panic in the supermarket about whether or not Yusuf kept halal and whether kosher meat met the same requirements he decided to play it safe and make something vegetarian.

When he'd woken up that morning he hadn't been sure how he'd survive the day. Both excited to see Yusuf and dreading having to face him. He felt like everyone must know. That every time he thought about the way Yusuf's nose crinkled when he laughed, passers by must somehow know and be judging him. Which meant the moment he saw Yusuf again the other man would immediately know. And what could a man like that possibly see in him? Yusuf was bright and passionate where Nicolò was quiet and reserved. Yusuf a sea of roaring waves, himself a deep pond. This man had gone out to see the world, lived in another city, another country. Nicolò had barely left the region he was born in.

And what's more, Yusuf was out. He was happy with who he was, proud even. Nicolò could barely think the word. Whenever he tried to he'd think back to what he'd hear as a child. That it was no way to live. That you could never have a 'normal' life. And worse, much worse things. He'd think of the latest headline. That man in Pescara who'd had his jaw broken simply for walking along a street with his boyfriend. He couldn't imagine things were that much better in Paris and yet Yusuf refused to be cowed, refused to be anything less than he was. Nicolò's entire life had been defined by his attempts to escape himself.

If Yusuf didn't feel the same way ( _And how could he?_ ) then the only thing worse than rejection was the idea that Yusuf might pity him. See him like that student of his who followed him around adoringly. Nicolò didn't think he could live with Yusuf thinking of him like that. As an inconvenience to be tolerated or slowly weaned out of his life.

By the time he'd finished cooking all Nicolò wanted to do was call up Yusuf and tell him not to come over. Make some excuse. But that wasn't true, was it? Because he desperately, desperately wanted to see him. See the way his lips curled into a smile, the way his brow furrowed and he'd lean his head to one side when he was thinking. And maybe that could be enough. Maybe getting to sit opposite Yusuf and eat with him and walk with him through the city and listen to his thoughts on art and history and everything under the sun, maybe that was enough.

If he's the sea, Nicolò thought, I can at least stand on the shore.

-

Yusuf had to call Nile about work anyway which gave him the perfect excuse to work his worries into the end of their conversation.

“So he just left? You can do that?”

“I don't know. Maybe there's like a ceremony to make him... not-a-priest again.”

“Well, give him my best. That can't have been easy. How's he doing?”

Yusuf rubbed the back of his head. “Okay? I think he's mostly just glad to have made a decision.”

Nile made a sympathetic noise. “Yeah, jeez, I can't imagine. He must have had a really good reason though.”

Yusuf thought about what Nicolò had told him about the kid at his church. For some reason it felt too personal to share.

“Yeah... is it stupid that I keep thinking this means that he's available now?”

Nile smiled and rolled her eyes. “Dude, he _just_ left.”

“I know, I know.”

“Although, at dinner-” Nile stopped herself.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what were you going to say?”

Nile sighed. “Have you considered that he may be head-smart but heart-dumb?”

“What do you mean?”

There was a knocking sound at Nile's end of the line.

“Oh shoot, I forgot I was meeting Dizzy.” She called out to her friend. “ _Une seconde!_ ” Yusuf could hear her scrambling around with her papers. “Yusuf, I'm really sorry-”

“It's fine, really.”

“I'll text you later.”

“Okay, no worries. Have fun!”

Yusuf checked the time on his phone. It was almost time to head over to Nicolò's anyway. He got up and started collecting his things together.

But what had Nile meant? What was she trying to say? What about that dinner? Had Nicolò said something that had made her think... _Don't go there_. This was not a good avenue of thought. It was bad enough having a ridiculously intense crush on the man without allowing himself to hope that his feelings might be in any way reciprocated.

Although it was one thing to tell yourself that and something else completely to believe it. So when Nicolò opened the door to him wearing a soft-looking grey t-shirt, his hair pushed back from his forehead, and one of his customary nervous smiles it took everything within Yusuf to not reach forward and pull him into a kiss.

Nicolò led him into his flat.

“Something smells good.”

“I hope you like aubergine.”

Even if he hadn't, Yusuf would have lied through his teeth for Nicolò. He happily accepted his plate when it was offered.

“This is amazing.”

Nicolò's cheeks turned a very fetching pink. “Like I said, there's not a huge amount happening where I live. And I find cooking relaxing.”

“No excuses, take the compliment.”

Nicolò looked at him, fork halfway to his mouth. “Ehm, thank you.”

“You're welcome,” Yusuf smiled at him. He had a few more mouthfuls and then decided to broach the topic. “How are you doing?”

“Hmm?”

“Since yesterday.”

Nicolò sighed. Yusuf watched him put on a brave face. “Okay... I haven't told anyone else yet. Except the dean. I want to tell my congregation myself and...” He pushed his food around his plate. “I haven't worked out how to tell my parents yet.”

Yusuf nodded slightly, thinking. “Were they... did they want you to go into the church?”

“I think they preferred it to the alternative.”

“What's the alternative?”

Nicolò looked at him, eyes starved, and shrugged after a moment. “I just don't think they'll like my reasons for leaving. I think they thought it was a good life for me.”

Yusuf felt like he was missing something. “I think there could be lots of good lives for you, Nicolò. I think you deserve a chance to find out what those might be.”

“I think my mother would say I was throwing away a decent career in the naïve pursuit of something as undefinable as happiness.”

“Well, impressive as that sentence is, she's wrong." He made his next words very certain. "I want you to be happy.”

He matched Nicolò's gaze. _Too far?_ Nicolò looked down at his food and very quietly said, “So do I.”

They finished the rest of their meal in silence. Yusuf helped him clear the plates into the kitchen and was starting to worry that he'd overstepped and was about to say as much, apologise, when Nicolò stopped and turned to him.

“Yusuf...”

 _Here it comes_. Yusuf braced himself for the worst. Which was why he was so surprised when Nicolò kissed him.

-

Had you asked, Nicolò wouldn't have been able to tell you why it felt like the right time. Maybe it was Yusuf telling him he wanted him to be happy. No-one had ever said that to him before, so perhaps it was as good an admittance of affection for him. Or maybe it was just time. Time to be honest. Time to be brave.

He called Yusuf's name to get his attention and then stepped up close and, very carefully, kissed him. Just once. Then he pulled back. Yusuf stared at him. He dropped his gaze.

“I'm gay.” It came out a little rasping, as if the words had scraped against the fear building in his throat.

Yusuf made a sound almost like a laugh. “Okay.”

“Did I read that wrong?”

“No,” Yusuf's voice still had a flavour of laughter to it but was firm and absolute. “No, you didn't.”

Nicolò looked up. Yusuf was looking at him like he had done more than just kissed him. Like he'd performed a miracle. Like he was a miracle.

“Can I kiss you again?”

Yusuf laughed again. “I would be very upset if you didn't.”

Nicolò took a breath and leaned forward. This time Yusuf's hands came up to cup his cheeks, guiding his head to the side slightly. It seemed that angles were an important part of this kissing business. _You're thinking about trigonometry at a time like this??_

Yusuf's lips against his were soft but insistent. Nicolò had a sudden thought that only really sank in then, despite Yusuf's earlier words. Yusuf wanted this as much as he did. And well, if that didn't make it even better.

When Yusuf's fingers ran through the hair at the back of his head, Nicolò opened his mouth to breath out a sigh, and Yusuf's tongue grazed over his _._ A thrill went through him like none he'd ever known. He felt rather than heard himself make a small, strangled noise in his throat. Yusuf pulled back, which was the opposite of what Nicolò wanted but was probably what his lungs needed.

“Are you alright? Is this okay?”

Nicolò looked at Yusuf - beautiful, wonderful Yusuf - and nodded. “More than okay.”

Yusuf smiled and kissed him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: there's a reference to a third party being the victim of a homophobic hate crime.
> 
> The [headline](https://www.irishtimes.com/news/world/europe/lagging-behind-europe-fight-over-lgbt-rights-divides-italy-1.4308656) Nicolò mentions is reference to a real attack that happen in Italy earlier this year. Homophobia, I'm afraid to say, is alive and well in 2020.


	8. If Moses had seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolò decides he needs more kissing practice and Yusuf is happy to oblige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait everyone but I'm feeling a lot better so hopefully I'll be more consistent from now on. As you'll see we're starting to earn our Mature Rating... 
> 
> Title is from the following line from the Book of Tahkemoni by Judah Alharizi which I have zero feelings about whatsoever:  
> "If Moses had seen the way my friend's face blushes when he's drunk, and his beautiful curls and wonderful hands, he would not have written in his Torah: do not lie with a man."
> 
> Also, I promise I won't leave you on this cliffhanger for long!

Nicolò had spent a lot of his life afraid. Afraid he really was who he thought he might be. Afraid someone, anyone, would find out. Afraid of himself.

Someone had once told him that there was a knife's edge between fear and excitement. He'd never understood that as completely as he had when he had kissed Yusuf. He'd been terrified. But he'd also never been so eager. And now, knowing that soon he would see Yusuf again, he was nervous. Not because he thought anything would happen that he wasn't ready for, didn't want, but because of exactly what he did want to happen.

He'd lain in bed after Yusuf had left, replaying each kiss. The feeling of Yusuf's beard against his cheek. The sensation of Yusuf's hands in his hair, on his neck, his shoulder. Even through his shirt the other man's touch was the most incredible thing. How Yusuf had tenderly deepened the kiss until Nicolò's knees felt weak. Just thinking about it now made him feel wired and dizzy with arousal but he was too scared to touch himself.

 _You're never going to be able to- Stop it_. It was like whiplash. One moment feeling aflame, the next ashamed. _You should be ashamed- Shut. Up_.

Eventually the back and forth had exhausted him and he'd fallen asleep to the memory of how Yusuf had held his face in his hands and looked at him, not like the curse he'd been told he was, but like a blessing.

-

When Yusuf woke up he had to take a minute to work out if the events of the night before had just been a dream. _In a manner of speaking_. He thought back to the welcoming surprise of Nicolò's lips against his own. How it felt to run his fingers through the other man's hair. The glory of it all.

Leaving Nicolò's place to head back to his own flat, his own bed, had been like lifting a heavy weight from the bottom of the ocean. Yusuf had worried about leaving Nicolò at the mercy of his own mind but he had no intention of rushing him either. He worried that if he'd offered to stay Nicolò would have panicked. Like a cornered mouse rushing from false hope to false hope.

He wanted to treat Nicolò with the care and delicacy he handled fine pieces of art, and simultaneously wanted to rip his clothes off. He thought about the way Nicolò had, adorably, not known where to put his hands while they were kissing. _I can think of a few places_.

Yusuf grabbed his phone from the bedside table and tapped out a message.

_You okay?_

He went through the rest of his notifications and was about to convince himself out of bed and into the shower when Nicolò replied.

 _I think so_.

Oh. God.

_What's up?_

_Nothing, I just surprised myself._

Yusuf smiled to himself.

 _You surprised me too_. And then quickly followed up with. _In a good way_.

There was a pause.

_So I wasn't terrible?_

_No! You were great._

There was another pause and then.

 _I think I need practice_.

Had Yusuf been wearing a collar he'd have been hot under it.

 _We can arrange that_.

_Are you free later? Or do you have to work?_

_I have some errands to run but then I'm all yours_. He imagined Nicolò getting that high colour in his cheeks when he read that message so decided to be merciful and followed it up quickly. _I'll be back at mine for 2pm._

 _See you then_.

Now Yusuf really did need a shower. A cold one.

  
  


-

  
  


By lunchtime, Nicolò had worked himself up so much he couldn't eat. He had gone for a long walk to try and settle himself, lose some of the anxious energy he was sure he must be visibly buzzing with. After trying and failing to convince himself that food was a good idea he decided to slowly make his way over to Yusuf's.

As he walked, he tried out the new voice in his head. _It will be okay. You haven't done anything wrong._ The old voice still crept in with it's snide and spite, and even when he couldn't hear it Nicolò knew instinctively what it would say if it could. But he kept trying. Maybe, in time, the old voice would get tired. It would grow quiet and distant and this new voice could replace it. _Maybe... ._

Then, after all that, when Yusuf opened the door to him, all of the voices stopped. Yusuf looked so happy to see him. Surely anything that brought a smile to this man's face couldn't be bad.

Yusuf wrapped his arms around him and breathed a “Hey” against his ear. Other than that time in the swimming pool, they hadn't embraced before. This time Nicolò just about had the wherewithal to bring his arms up and return the gesture. It didn't help his nerves but it felt... safe. As though nothing could be wrong with the world when he was in Yusuf's arms.

Yusuf let go and grinned at Nicolò. “You looked like you needed that.”

Nicolò looked at his feet, bashful, and headed into the apartment. “That bad, huh?”

“No, not at all. Just... are you alright?”

Nicolò had never been drunk but in that moment he was sure he knew what it felt like. “Can I have a glass of water?”

Yusuf all but sprang into action and soon Nicolò had a tumbler pressed into his hand. He drained it before putting it down on the kitchen table.

“Nicolò-”

“I'm okay,” he smiled at Yusuf, breathed out his trepidation. “I'm good.”

Yusuf visibly relaxed. “Okay, I just... I realise this is a lot and I wasn't sure how you were feeling after last night.”

“Last night.”

A shadow of confusion passed over Yusuf's face.

“Yeah, you know, with the kissing.”

Nicolò decided to be brave. “Remind me?”

Realisation dawned on him and Yusuf smiled in much the same way he did when he knew he'd just won an argument. He slowly walked over to Nicolò, who had to force himself to swallow the panic building in his mouth. And then Yusuf's mouth was on his and everything was still daunting but also delightful. Drinking though he was drowning.

Nicolò turned his head as he'd learnt to the night before and when Yusuf's lips teased his own open he cautiously pressed his tongue against the other man's. He still didn't know what to do with his hands but at least he seemed to be figuring out the rest. The previous evening Yusuf had done this thing where he'd gently sucked on his lower lip which had felt pretty good so Nicolò tried doing the same. At first he was worried he'd used too much pressure but then Yusuf moaned. He moaned and Nicolò could hardly believe it was him that was responsible for Yusuf making that noise. It did nothing to calm him down.

He was so caught up in how good it all felt that he didn't realise that Yusuf's hands had moved until he felt the other man's thumbs running up from his waistband, under his shirt, to brush against skin. Nicolò gasped, feeling like he'd just been shocked and stepped backwards reflexively.

“Sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Yusuf caught his eye. “I'm the one that... got carried away.”

“I just- I want to-” And Nicolò realised he did want to. He really wanted to.

“It's okay. I get it. Not yet,” Yusuf reached forward and took Nicolò's hand in his and squeezed it. “There's no rush.”

But there was a rush, deep within him, Nicolò realised. His pulse was pounding inside his head and he was terrified. But he also wanted, needed to know what it felt like when Yusuf's hands kept exploring.

Yusuf indicated towards the sofa with his head and tugged on Nicolò's hand until he followed him. He tried to pay attention to what Yusuf was saying, the kind, reassuring sentiments, but it was impossible when he could still taste him on his lips. He felt like he was on the edge of a diving board and every second he didn't jump was another he had to spend waiting to take the plunge.

Yusuf was trying to console him with a story about a disastrous first date when his phone rang. “Ah shit, I think I have to take this,” Yusuf gave his hand another squeeze before getting up and walking back towards the kitchen area. “Hey James.”

Nicolò sat on the sofa, his blood on fire, and then he made a decision. He felt almost like he was sleep-walking as he slowly but purposefully unlaced his shoes and set them to one side. It was hard to hear with the roar of waves in his ears, hard to think with his heart in his mouth. But the moment he heard Yusuf end the call he stood.

“Sorry, I've been waiting to hear from our bursar-”

Yusuf stopped explaining when he saw Nicolò's face.

Nicolò reached out, burying his fingers in Yusuf's curls, and kissed him. Like he meant it. He kissed him until he ran out of oxygen.

“Now.” Yusuf frowned, looking into his eyes. “I want to now.”

Yusuf gave him a hungry look Nicolò had never seen before and kissed him again. _Holy shit_ , thought Nicolò, _this is really happening._


	9. The undone and the divine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Bedroom Hymns by Florence + the Machine
> 
> I have never been more nervous before posting a chapter. We are firmly in Mature territory here, folks. The plot will return... eventually :P
> 
> Shout out to [dbakeiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dbakeiro) for the Italian advice.
> 
> You all keep leaving me nice comments and I can't keep up with them but I hope to get round to them eventually!

In his bedroom, Yusuf helped Nicolò unbutton his shirt, his heart quickening with each one he undid. The other man's hands trembled slightly as he reached for Yusuf's buttons but he seemed convicted. Once he was done Yusuf took the opportunity to watch himself run his fingers down Nicolò's chest. He heard Nicolò's breath hitch as he counted over his ribs. He looked back up at Nicolò who was watching him with a desperate look in his eye. Yusuf shrugged his way out of his shirt and kissed Nicolò as he helped him out of his trousers.

Once they had stripped down to their boxers Yusuf crowded in, pushing Nicolò down to sit on the edge of his bed. _He's actually on my bed_. He gave Nicolò a long, languishing kiss, hands cupping either side of his face, before pausing.

“Are you alright?” Nicolò nodded at him, wide eyed. “I'm going to need you to say it.”

Nicolò huffed out a breathy laugh. “I'm very alright,” his shoulders moved with his breath. “Please don't stop.”

Yusuf had hoped for assurance and had instead been presented with encouragement. He didn't need telling twice. He kissed Nicolò briefly on the lips before moving down to his neck. Nicolò tentatively put a hand on his waist, making the smallest sound as Yusuf found the sweet spot just before his shoulder.

With some maneuvering, Yusuf made his way up to lie beside Nicolò as he kissed him. He dragged a hand over Nicolò's stomach and worked a leg between his. And the hesitance in the other man vanished. Nicolò groaned, his hands gripping Yusuf's back, and rocked into him. Yusuf had to stop kissing the other man to gasp as Nicolò's thigh pressed against his dick.

After some very enjoyable ( _Fucking incredible_ ) minutes of grinding against one another, Yusuf pushed himself up onto one elbow and looked down at the other man. Nicolò was breathing heavily and watching him intently. Yusuf took a moment to appreciate that the face of the man beneath him was his work – that it was him that had quiet, serious Nicolò gasping, chasing after kisses with his mouth, pupils blown, completely undone.

“Yusuf...”

He leaned in and kissed him, reaching down at the same time to take him in his hand. Nicolò grabbed his arm.

“ _Dio santo.”_

Yusuf didn't need to speak Italian to understand. The strain in Nicolò's voice transcended language. The way he moaned as Yusuf pulled him off said everything. The sound he made when he came, panting and ruined, was enough to have Yusuf close himself. So much so that when Nicolò reached for him, the lack of finesse wasn't a problem. He just had to think back to twenty seconds earlier when Nicolò had cried out, fingertips digging into his arms, and he was almost there. Nicolò kissed his neck, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise, and turned his wrist in just the right way.

“Fuck.”

He came with a yelp and spent a solid minute breathing open-mouthed against Nicolò's collarbone. He could feel the other man's pulse under this skin.

Yusuf rolled onto his side and studied Nicolò's face. The man gave him a shy smile and Yusuf laughed and kissed him.

They were both quite sticky. “Hold that thought.”

Once Yusuf had retrieved a towel he padded back into the bedroom only to see that Nicolò had covered himself with the sheet and was sat up against the headboard, with his knees against his chest. He looked wretched.

“Hey,” Yusuf sat down next to him. Nicolò wouldn't look him in the eye. He put a hand on the other man's knee and sent up a silent prayer of thanks when Nicolò didn't flinch.

“I'm sorry,” Nicolò said quiet, his voice hoarse. Yusuf had a horrible feeling he wasn't apologising for being upset, which would have been bad enough, but for what he'd done. For who he was.

“Nicolò,” Yusuf bent his head and waited until the other man looked at him. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

Nicolò nodded slowly, silently. He took a deep breath to steel himself. “I.. I know that... conceptually.” Yusuf had to stop himself from laughing. Even in his darkest moments, Nicolò was so perfectly Nicolò. “Before... for a long time I didn't know there was a word for someone like me and then... my father...” He leaned his head back against the wall before flicking his eyes back to Yusuf. “The word I learnt wasn't a good one.”

Yusuf thought about how, as a teenager, he'd gone to his mother and sobbingly told her he was gay, though he didn't yet have the language for it. How she had held him and told him that she loved him, was proud of him, not despite his proclivity, but just as he was. He imagined a young Nicolò, too afraid to say anything, but already knowing the reaction he would face if he told someone who he was. It left him with an aching feeling in his chest.

Yusuf moved so he was sat next to Nicolò, their shoulders millimetres apart. “It's not easy.” Nicolò closed his eyes. “But it does get easier.”

After a moment Nicolò tilted his head to rest against his shoulder and Yusuf was finally able to believe what he'd just assured the other man. It was going to be okay.

  
  


_-_

  
  


Nicolò had a good cry in the shower and, afterwards, he felt a lot better. As though the tension that had lived in every single one of his muscles since he'd kissed Yusuf had eased. He looked at himself in the mirror and tried to tell himself what the devastatingly handsome man in the next room had promised. _You're okay. You're going to be okay. You've done nothing wrong_.

Yusuf looked up at him, expectantly, when he emerged from the bathroom. He was sat on the end of his bed in his underwear, trying to hide his concern. Nicolò felt that drop his stomach he got whenever Yusuf did or said something that reminded him of how special he was. He could gleefully talk Nicolò into a corner, but he'd also trek across the city in the middle of the night to meet him because he said he was homesick. He was truly something.

He walked over to him and threaded his fingers into Yusuf's hair pensively. He sighed.

“What?”

“I'm trying to work out how to say this without apologising.” Yusuf snorted. “Thank you for being patient with me,” Yusuf looked like he was about to interrupt but Nicolò beat him to it. “And I hope you don't think I don't... uh,” he looked down, embarrassed. “That I don't want to do that again.”

“Hmm, a lot of negatives in there.” Nicolò looked up at Yusuf who had a mischievous look on his face. “A guy could easily get confused.” Nicolò rolled his eyes and Yusuf put his hands on his waist, pulled him in a little closer. “So you're saying you don't want to have sex again?”

Nicolò shook his head fondly. “I'm not going to dignify that with an answer.” He rested his hands on Yusuf's bare shoulders. Felt the bones and muscles move beneath the skin. God, he could get used to this.

“That's a shame because I could have been tempted.”

“You should get in the shower.”

“I don't know, this news has hit me hard.”

Nicolò sighed, “Yusuf.” The other man looked at him with mock sincerity. “At some point, in the not too distant future, I would like to have sex with you again.”

“Well, only if you're sure.”

“I'm certain.”

Yusuf beamed and hopped up, stealing a kiss as he went. “Help yourself to the kitchen.”

While Yusuf showered, Nicolò finished dressing and made his way back into the flat. It had been hours since he'd eaten and now the cocktail of desire and dread was out of his system he realised he was starving.

By the time Yusuf came through to join him, Nicolò was happily munching on his second slice of toast. He held out a piece to the other man who took it gratefully and they stood on either sides of the kitchen, smiling at each other, as they ate.

 _I could get used to this too_.


	10. And words are futile devices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuf shows Nicolò his drawings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from the song Futile Devices by Sufjan Stevens as I feel like this whole chapter has a bit of that vibe.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for continuing to leave such kind comments and for loving these dumb boys as much as I do.

Having polished off a copious mount of toast, Yusuf made them some tea and they parked themselves on the sofa. Despite having been very naked with the other man not more than an hour earlier, Nicolò still found himself struggling to adjust to being allowed to touch him. Thankfully, Yusuf had no such issue, and swung his legs up over Nicolò's. He placed a welcoming hand on Yusuf's shin.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Nicolò looked over from where he'd be revelling at the fact that his hand was on another man's leg. A man he'd had sex with.

“Of course.”

“How long did you want to kiss me before you did?”

Nicolò blushed. “Um, the swimming pool was when I realised,” he rolled a loose thread from Yusuf's jeans around his finger. “But I think it was before that. I think I was just trying not to.”

“A pointless endeavour considering how irresistibly charming I am,” Yusuf put his hands behind his head, smirking. And then did a take. “Wait, so you kissed me the day after you realised?”

“Ehm,” Nicolò thought to himself. “Oh, yes, I suppose I did.”

“Dude,” Yusuf laughed. “I had a crush on you from like the day we got coffee.”

Nicolò looked at him, struggling to contain a smile. “Really?”

“I mean, I may have taken a while to catch on but I definitely knew I liked you then.”

“You didn't say anything.”

“Uh, no Nicky, because you were a priest.”

Nicolò felt a warm feeling rise in his chest. “I like it when you call me that.”

“I'm assuming you don't mean 'priest'.” Nicolò poked him gently in the leg. “Oh, wait. No, I definitely liked you before that because I drew you before we went to the Dome.”

“You drew me?”

“Oh,” Yusuf looked a little sheepish. “Yeah, I do that.”

“How?”

“From memory. I hope that's not creepy?”

“No, I don't think so,” Nicolò smiled. “Can I see?”

He felt like he was asking something very personal. This felt like more of an intimacy than having sex. _You had sex with him._ Yusuf pulled his legs out from under him to go and get his sketchbook. _You had sex with a man._ Nicolò felt a tightness in his chest. _What would you parents think?_ He took a deep, painful breath. _They would be disgusted- You're okay. You're okay. You're okay._

Yusuf sat back down and held the book out to him. Nicolò reached out for it and held onto the other man's fingers for a moment, grounding himself.

“You okay?”

Nicolò nodded and busied himself looking through the sketches. And _wow_. He had hoped they would distract him from the dangerous direction his thoughts were taking, but he wasn't prepared for how stunning Yusuf's drawings were.

“This is Nile.”

Yusuf looked over. “Oh, yes, that's quite an old one.”

“It looks just like her.” He turned a few more pages. “Where's this?”

“Versailles. I'm not as good at landscapes. I prefer portraits.”

“Yusuf,” he passed a drawing of a tired-looking man playfully lifting a boy into the air. “These are incredible.”

Yusuf didn't say anything so Nicolò glanced over at him. He looked pleased but also a little shy. Nicolò kept going through the book. The sketches conveyed such feeling. Yusuf's hand had filled each one with so much life and emotion. He had a way of capturing people that seemed to say something about them, seemed to hold some intrinsic part of them. One of the last few drawings was of him. He looked at it for some time.

“Um, is it not good?”

Nicolò shook his head. “It's not that.” It was hard to explain how seeing himself through Yusuf's eyes made him feel. “I guess I don't think of myself that way.”

“What way?”

“I look sad but... I don't know. Like there's more.” He closed the book careful and passed it on the coffee table. He leant back against the sofa cushions and absently rested a hand on Yusuf's knee. “I suppose I was sad.”

“How about now?”

He rolled his head to look at Yusuf and smiled. “Right now?” He considered. “Honestly? This is a lot. If you told me a week ago... but when I can shut off the unhelpful voice I'm happy.”

“What does the voice say?”

Nicolò sighed. “A lot of things. About me.” He gestured between them. “About this.”

Yusuf studied him for a while. “Will you tell me next time? Next time it's being... unhelpful?”

Nicolò had to take a moment to convince himself so that he could answer honestly. “Okay.”

“I know I can't make it go away but... maybe I can provide some compelling counterpoints.”

Nicolò snorted. “Well, you are very good at arguing.”

Yusuf laughed but after a while turned serious again.

“I drew you the way you are, Nicky. There's more to you than that feeling.”

Nicolò reached out a hand to take the front of Yusuf's shirt and pull him into a kiss. Yusuf happily complied. Nicolò paused for a moment.

“Well, I'm pretty happy right now.”

Yusuf grinned and kissed him again.

-

They ordered a takeaway and Yusuf enjoyed the sight of Nicolò sat on his sofa trying to wrangle noodles. He still couldn't get over the fact that Nicolò was here. That the man he'd been fawning over was sitting next to him as they ate their post-coital meal. He'd keep looking over and zoning out watching the other man, in awe of his mere presence.

Nicolò was telling him stories about his parishioners. Yusuf had been cautious about bringing up anything relating to Nicolò's late career, but he happily shared tales of flower committees and overblown minor disputes between local characters. He was regaling a story about the drama over a missing hymn book and laughed, running his hands over his face.

“I have that to look forward to when I-” Nicolò stopped. Yusuf paused, food halfway to his mouth. “Huh, I suppose I don't.”

Yusuf decided it may be time to ask some difficult questions. “What will happen, when you go back?”

Nicolò sighed. “Not much. I mostly just want to say goodbye. Give Simone a proper handover. And I guess technically now I'm homeless so...”

“Shit.”

Nicolò shrugged. “It is what it is.”

Yusuf felt stupidly guilty. He knew it wasn't his fault. Nicolò was halfway to this decision before they'd even met and had known he was gay a lot longer than that. Still, Yusuf couldn't help but feel responsible for him. It wasn't that he had to take care of him, but he wanted to.

There was an unspoken question between them but Yusuf suspected he'd already poked enough bruises for one evening.

“Frankly I'm more worried about telling my parents.”

“Which part?

Nicolò sighed. “The gay part.” He put down his fork. “How did you Mum react, when you told her?”

“She was great. I was twelve and I'd just got my first proper crush on this boy at school but it was also the age that kids started being jerks so I knew the score.” Yusuf smiled to himself, remembering. “I was so worried and I thought she would be angry or... but she was great.” He laughed. “She'd love you.”

Nicolò blushed, looked down at his food. “She sounds like a really special woman.”

“Yeah, I'm a lucky guy. Which, messed up that we see it as anything but just decent parenting but...” Yusuf realised he was getting very close to insulting Nicolò's parents and, much as he didn't like what he'd heard so far, he didn't think it was really his place.

“Um,” Nicolò rubbed the back of his neck. “Does she know about me? Your Mum?”

“Do you want her to know about you?”

“No- I mean... I still don't really know how this works.”

“Mum gets very excited whenever I mention anyone so I tend not to tell her until I'm actually dating someone.”

Nicolò looked over at him, obviously caught off guard. “Oh, okay.”

“What?” Nicolò shook his head. “No, what was that?”

Nicolò bit at his lip. It was very distracting.

“I... I sort of assumed that we were dating. Since we had sex.”

Yusuf was about to laugh but caught himself just in time. Of course Nicolò thought that. Of course he did. Yusuf was overcome with fondness. _God he's adorable_.

Nicolò was paying a lot of attention to his empty plate. Yusuf poked him with his foot.

“Hey,” Nicolò looked over him. “Do you want to be my boyfriend, Nicky?”

Nicolò gave him one of those smiles that only seemed to use half of his mouth but stomped over all of Yusuf's heart.

“Go on then.”

Yusuf laughed. “Okay. Cool.” He finished off his dinner, watching Nicolò try to pretend he wasn't beaming. “Wanna stay over?”

The other man gave him a pleased, if a little nervous, look and nodded. There were unread messages stacking up on Yusuf's phone and there was a whole mess waiting for Nicolò back in Italy, but for tonight they could put all that to one side and just be stupidly, gloriously happy.


	11. Your body is the road to where peace begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolò starts to relax and Yusuf has a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from My Trigger by Miike Snow.
> 
> I imagine Nicky is absolutely a Dorothy Day (a Catholic, anarchist social activist) fan and I've thought the quote suited him for ages so glad I finally got to use it.
> 
> Thanks again to [Awenna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awenna/pseuds/Awenna) for spotting my typos. There's probably a ton in here but I already proofed it once and I need to sleeeeep.
> 
> Also, I have no idea is this counts as Explicit rather than Mature so if you think I need to up the rating lemme know!

They had gone to sleep curled up together, Yusuf's arms tucking Nicolò into his chest. As much as he had wanted to find out what other noises he could get Nicolò to make, Yusuf hadn't wanted to push his luck. He knew eventually he'd have to trust that this was happening. That Nicolò really did want this as much as he did. And he wanted that to be true so much. But he also knew that they had already gone from zero to a hundred very quickly and he suspected that Nicolò hadn't completely adjusted. The last thing he wanted to do was overwhelm him. But this meant he'd gone to sleep desperately horny and woken up all but buzzing. And hard.

Yusuf had an initial panic. What if Nicolò woke up and freaked out? Could he untangle himself from the other man without waking him? What if we was already awake?

“Nicky?” He barely whispered it but was almost immediately answered with a low hum. And Nicolò pressing back against him. _Fuck that feels good_. He returned the gesture and Nicolò groaned. Yusuf extracted an arm and ran it down the other man's front until it traced against where Nicolò's dick was straining the material of his boxers. Nicolò gasped and arched against him. Yusuf carefully rolled Nicolò onto his back so he could kiss him. Nicolò blinked up at him, still a little sleepy. _Let's see what we can do about that._ He pushed up Nicolò's shirt and leant down to lick his tongue around one of his nipples. Nicolò murmured something in Italian and dug his fingers into Yusuf's arms. Before Yusuf could move back up to kiss him Nicolò had pushed himself up so he could pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. That was more than enough encouragement.

Yusuf tucked his fingers under the waistband of Nicolò's boxers. “Uh, there's no graceful way to do this.”

Nicolò snorted and lifted his hips so that together they could finish undressing him. Yusuf kissed him again before tilting him down onto his back. He trailed his way down to the other man's waist and stroked a hand over his stomach before taking Nicolò in his mouth. He started gingerly, working out what the other man liked, and easing off to make him last longer. Soon Nicolò was swearing in breathy Italian. At least, Yusuf assumed that was what was saying. All he could understand, all that mattered, was his own name. He reached up and placed a hand over Nicolò's where it was bunched into the sheets. He flicked his tongue over the head of Nicolò's dick and the other man called out his name, more insistently, and tugged on his hand. Yusuf's fingers replaced his mouth and he finished Nicolò off while pressing kisses into his jugular notch.

Once Nicolò's breathing returned to normal Yusuf kissed him, the other man eagerly returning the gesture.

“Good morning.”

Nicolò laughed, still a little out of breath. “Good morning,” he reached up and cupped Yusuf's cheek. “I'd like to return the favour.”

“You don't have-” Yusuf was about to offer Nicolò the opportunity to pace himself but before he could the other man had rolled them both and was braced above him. He looked down at him with an subtle but intense expression. _Damn, that's hot_.

“Just- tell me what works.”

Yusuf hastily slipped out of his own boxers while Nicolò burnt kisses into his neck. Yusuf pushed himself up onto his elbows to watch the other man progress down his chest. Just in case. Nicolò paused, looking a little nervous, his hand running up Yusuf's length. He was about to say something, reassure Nicolò that there was no rush, when he felt his mouth on him and he fell backwards onto his pillow. And everything else was delirium.

-

It wasn't like Nicolò had expected. Not that he'd thought about it that much. _Sure you hadn't._ But he'd worried he wouldn't enjoy it. That it would feel uncomfortable or overwhelming. That it would taste bad. But it wasn't that different from any other part of Yusuf's skin. And he still hadn't got over being able to have his hands, his mouth, any part of him on Yusuf. It was exciting, as well, working out what did and didn't work. Yusuf hissed at one point and he'd realised he'd accidentally scraped his teeth against him. And then at other times he'd exhale or moan saying “Fuck, yes, that.” or something equally as encouraging. The feedback was everything.

He ran his tongue up Yusuf's dick before coming off him for a moment before swallowing him into his mouth again and the other man buried his hands in his hair. Practically, it helped guide him in terms of speed and pressure. In every other way it just felt amazing. Nicolò had learnt a lot about himself in the last twenty-four hours. It turned out that liking hair pulling was one of them.

It took a lot longer than Yusuf had taken with him and he was starting to worry he wasn't doing a good job. But then a few moments later Yusuf choked out his name and guided him back up to his mouth. He followed Yusuf's lead and wrapped his hand around the other man's dick, soaking in the sound of Yusuf coming undone beneath him.

“Was- was that okay?”

Yusuf breathed out a chuckle and tugged him in for a long, lazy kiss. “You won't hear me complaining.”

  
  


-

  
  


Yusuf had showered first and so Nicolò padded out to him in the kitchen, barefoot in his jeans, pulling his t-shirt over his head. He caught a whiff of it as it ran over his face.

“I need a fresh shirt.”

Yusuf looked up from where he was finishing making their breakfast. “Do you want to borrow one?”

“I should probably go back home anyway.” He leant against the kitchen counter. “I think I need to call my parents.”

Frowning, Yusuf looked down at the pan of eggs. “Are you sure? I mean, there's no rush.”

“I know but...” It was hard to explain but a lifetime of pretending was more than long enough. “I think it's time to face the music.”

“Do you want me to stay with you? While you make the call?”

He was too busy plating scrambled eggs to notice but Nicolò watched him. He felt like he'd known this man forever but he still managed to surprise him with his gentleness, his generosity. Yusuf was still waving around a hot pan otherwise Nicolò would have taken his face in his hands and kissed him.

“I think I need to do this for myself.” This may be true but the prospect still wasn't appealing. “Maybe I can come back here tonight though?”

Yusuf handed him his breakfast and grinned. “Yes please.”

After they'd polish off their eggs and Yusuf had waved off his attempts to do the washing up they headed out into the city. Yusuf had made some excuse about wanting another of Galli's coffees but Nicolò was no fool.

As much as he wanted to reach down and entwine his fingers with Yusuf's as they walked he just couldn't bring himself to. He felt the strange sick twist of shame in his stomach. Nicolò imagined what Yusuf would say. _It's okay. You're new to this. You'll get there._ He consoled himself with stolen glances at the other man, their arms occasionally brushing together as they ambled along. Even in those stolen moments, Yusuf was still the most beautiful man he'd ever seen.

When they arrived at her stall, Nicolò greeted Galli with his halting attempts at Hebrew. She smiled at them both and seemed to remember Yusuf. “Two lattes?”

“ _Toda_ , Galli.”

Yusuf insisted on paying, reminding Nicolò that he'd promised to get the next one. Their last coffee felt like a year ago. Time seemed to stretch with Yusuf, as though the universe were slowing down to gift them more together. But even forever wouldn't be enough.

  
  


-

  
  


In his bedroom, Nicolò stripped off his shirt and dropped it into the laundry basket before opening his cupboard. Yusuf snuck up behind the other man and wrapped his arms around Nicolò's waist, burying his nose in his neck. He knew he should leave Nicolò to his phone call but he couldn't resist a quick, stolen moment with him. He wanted to load all of his courage and strength into his embrace and lend it to Nicolò for the day. For as long as he needed it.

“Wait,” Yusuf caught sight of the contents of the other man's wardrobe and stopped nuzzling him. He rested his chin on Nicolò's shoulder. “Are these all of your clothes?”

Nicolò seemed to have five identical t-shirts, a few similar button-downs, a spare pair of jeans, and (surprisingly) a hoodie. That was it.

“'If you have two coats you have stolen one from the poor.'”

“What?”

“Something Dorothy Day said. Although I'm pretty sure she was paraphrasing St Basil.” He shrugged. “I just don't see the point in having more than I need.”

He stepped back to let Nicolò put on what looked like the shirt he'd just cast off. It was such a Nicolò thing to think, to believe, to say. So representative of the type of man he was. _God, I love him_. And oh shit. There it was.

Yusuf didn't have long to sit with his most recent revelation though. Nicolò didn't need any other distractions today. He had slid on the black hoodie and turned back to Yusuf, who pulled the hood up over Nicolò's head. He smiled tenderly at him from beneath the dark material. _I love him so damn much_. Yusuf kissed him and Nicolò sank into it, clutching at his shirt. If Yusuf didn't leave now he never would.

“I'll see you for dinner?” Nicolò nodded. “You can come by whenever though. Or text me when you're done talking to your parents. Or call.”

“Yusuf.” Nicolò looked deep into his eyes. “I'll be okay.”

He nodded but Yusuf was sceptical. Not because he didn't trust Nicolò but because he didn't trust his parents.

“Good luck, Nicky.”

He tried to pour everything into their parting kiss but the other man was right. Ultimately, whatever happened, Nicolò would be okay. Yusuf would make sure of it.


	12. What if this storm ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolò comes out to his parents and Yusuf tells Andy and Booker that he's dating the hot priest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from What If This Storm Ends? by Snow Patrol. Because I'm that guy. But don't let it worry you! All will be well!

The silence at the other end of the line was finally broken.

“And what sort of life do you expect to live?” asked his mother.

Nicolò responded with pure instinct. “A happy one.”

More silence and eventually Nicolò decided enough was enough and hung up the phone. If his parents wanted to talk to him they could call him back. Otherwise, well, he'd tried.

He could feel the tension in his stomach, in his chest, in his veins. And then, slowly, as the honesty of his last statement washed over him, he started to relax. All he was trying to do was lead an authentic life. To live well and strive for happiness. What reasonable person could argue with that?

Nicolò realised that there was nothing left for him to do. He'd done it. The hardest thing he needed to do was done. Sure, he had no career or home or prospects to speak of – _Is that all?_ \- but compared to coming out that all seemed... manageable. He would figure it out. And he wasn't alone. He had Yusuf _._ He had a boyfriend.

He smiled to himself. It felt good to think and so, quietly, in the quiet secrecy of his flat he tried it aloud.

“Boyfriend.”

Part of him wanted to call Yusuf and let him know he was heading straight over. Bury his face in the other man's neck and stay there until all the big decisions got made for him. But he knew that part of the gift of his decision to leave the priesthood was finally taking an active role in his own life and he didn't want to waste that. He also knew that Yusuf's friends were arriving in a few days and he had things to prepare. And Nicolò also felt like he needed to sit with this for a bit. Just absorb his new reality. And- _oh shit_. He was going to meet Yusuf's friends.

He'd loved Nile and she hadn't seemed to dislike him but he had no idea what to expect with Yusuf's other friends. What would they think of his lack of... everything? _Stop it. Calm down. You can just enjoy this_. He took a breath. He was okay. He didn't need to figure it all out now. And how could anyone Yusuf liked enough to have visit him be someone to worry about.

Nicolò decided that sitting in his flat struggling to convince himself to read while he waited for the evening to come was a fool's errand. So he set off on one of his long walks. This time, however, instead of being accompanied by a nagging, worrisome voice, he just enjoyed looking at the city. Waving to Galli as he left the building he started on one of his usual routes. Now he wasn't being bothered as much by his own brain he could pause on his wanders to study the architecture, slowly amble along avenues running his hand over the bark of trees, he could just exist, unhindered.

  
  


-

  
  


On his way back from Nicolò's place Yusuf passed a pharmacy and stopped in to buy condoms. It always made him feel like a guilty teenager when it was the only thing he was buying but, as much fun as it had been so far, he hadn't exactly been leading by example. He figured between Nicolò's lifelong celibacy and his dry spell they were probably fine but it was a bad habit to get into. Safety first. They probably also needed to have a conversation some time soon about what was and wasn't on the table sex-wise. _That'll be a fun conversation to have with an ex-priest_. But still, important. And it was nice to marvel at the fact that he even got to have that conversation with Nicolò.

Speaking of Nicolò... . He didn't think the other man was quite ready for the 'l' word but if he really did love him ( _And, oh boy, do I_.) then it was probably time to mention Nicolò to his mum. And, much as it would involve a lot of explaining on his part, and teasing on theirs, he should probably let Andy and Booker know he was going to introduce them to his boyfriend at some point in the near future. Andy and Booker, who were arriving in... about 48 hours. _Crud_. That took priority. Although the moment they knew Nile would be hot on the heels and she would almost certainly let it slip to Morriam. _Shit_. He really hadn't planned this well.

As he made his way into his building he tapped out a quick text to Andy and Booker to see if they were free to talk that afternoon.

Unfortunately they were. And they were on fine form. He eased them in with a few logistical questions and then ever so subtly mentioned his minor change in circumstances. Andy all but did a double-take.

“You defrocked a priest?”

“In more ways than one, apparently.”

Yusuf put his head in his hands but not before he caught a glimpse of Booker's megawatt smirk.

“It wasn't like that.”

“What the hell have you been doing over there? Wasn't this the guy you were fighting with in a museum five minutes ago?”

“We weren't fighting, we were... debating. Forcefully. And it was at least a week ago.”

“Yusuf.”

He forced himself to look up. Andy was watching him with a guarded expression.

“He's a good guy, right?”

“He's practically a saint-”

“Shut _up_ , Book.” Andy was giving Booker one of those looks that said she was one more snide comment away from marching across the city for the sole purpose of slapping him upside the head. “I just- is he? A good guy?”

Yusuf smiled. “He's the best.”

“Jesus Christ.” He flipped off Booker who laughed. “I guess we'll get to met him when we visit?”

“Yeah,” Yusuf twisted some of his beard nervously between his fingers. “If you're up for it then, yeah. I'd like that.”

“Andy will be able to give him a thorough vetting.”

“Great,” Yusuf said drily. “I can't wait.”

“Seriously though,” Andy had one of her tired smiles on. “I'm happy for you, Yusuf. It's time at least one of made a go of having a successful relationship.”

“Hey!” Booker started giving out to her in profanity-laden French and Yusuf watched his friends bicker merrily with one another. He worried about Andy. She'd always been quite reserved. A little distant emotionally when it came to her own feelings. He knew she loved them but sometimes it was as though she was world-weary or worn down by the weight of the history she studied. Especially after Quynh left she'd seemed to be spending a lot of time inside her head. He made a mental note to try and get some one-on-one time with her when she visited and find out how she was really doing. She was like a cat that way. She hid her pain. Even from her friends.

“Does Nile know?”

Yusuf was drawn back into the conversation. “Uh, no, she met Nicky but-”

“Wait, did you just call him 'Nicky'? You're at the pet-names stage already? How long has this been going on?”

Yusuf groaned internally and tried to reel back in the last of his credibility.

  
  


-

  
  


Nicolò all but skipped up the steps to Yusuf's building. He'd looked forward to this moment all day. He could hardly wait a moment longer.

The instant Yusuf opened the door Nicolò launched himself at him. He wrapped his arms around te other man and kissed him eagerly. Yusuf laughed.

“You're in a good mood.”

Nicolò beamed at him. “I don't know, I feel... .” He thought for a moment while Yusuf shut the door and followed him into the flat. “I feel like my shoulders have been up my whole life and today they finally,” he gestured down with his hands and made a sound like a deep exhale. Yusuf smiled and leaned back against the wall, stretching out a hand to curl his fingers between Nicolò's.

“So it went well with your parents?”

“Oh, no, it was a disaster.” Yusuf's face fell and Nicolò had to remind himself his parents reaction wasn't his fault. “I thought it would be worse though. That there would be shouting and they'd try to convince me to stay in the church. But it was just...” He squeezed Yusuf's fingers and shrugged.

“I'm sorry.”

Nicolò nodded. “It was to be expected.”

“It still sucks when people meet your low expectations.”

“But it's done. I'm glad it's done.”

Yusuf looked at him sceptically. “You're allowed to be sad about it.”

“And I'm sure I will be,” Nicolò tugged Yusuf towards him and the other man put his hands on his shoulders, as if to check they were still as relaxed as Nicolò had claimed. “But right now I'm just glad to have got it out of the way.” He smiled, realising they had neglected the usual pleasantries. “Hello.”

“Hello.” Yusuf's eyes crinkled as he grinned at him.

“How was your day?”

Yusuf laughed. “Let's just say my friends are very excited to meet you.”

Nicolò felt that little twinge of anxiety in his ribs but pushed it away. _It's going to be fine_.

“I've been meaning to ask,” Yusuf was walking him backwards towards the sofa, steering him by the shoulders, but he made a humming noise to indicate that he was listening. “Is Booker his first name?”

“Uh, no, it's not his name at all. It's kind of a joke,” Yusuf smiled and sat them down. “He studies literature and his last name is Le Livre. It was too good an opportunity to pass up.”

“Literature?”

“Spanish mostly.”

“Your friends all sound very accomplished.”

Yusuf ran a thumb back and forth over Nicolò's nails. “Are you worried about meeting them?”

“No,” _Liar_. “Not exactly. I've just led a very different life up until now. And I know hanging out with a prie- an ex-priest is not everyone's idea of a good time.”

“Honestly, I'm more worried they're going to scare you off than anything else.” He reached out and played with Nicolò's collar. One of those small casual intimacies that Yusuf seemed to find so natural but that felt so heavy and meaningful to him. “But they're going to love you. You have nothing to worry about.”

Nicolò looked at his boyfriend and tried to work out how to explain. “Everything is happening very fast.”

“Do you want us to slow down?”

He shook his head. “No, but sometimes I worry that if anything changes this nice dream I've been having will end.”

Yusuf frowned momentarily and then his expression softened. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Nicolò smiled. _Except back to Paris_. But he would take whatever time he had with Yusuf for however long it may be. For another week or until the end of the world.

“Neither am I.”

And he knew, surer than his own name, that he meant it. And that he'd do anything to keep that promise for the rest of his life.


	13. Even when I look away I am still looking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolò meets Andy and Booker. Yusuf talks to Andy about feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Portrait of Fryderyk in Shifting Light by Richard Siken.
> 
> Sorry about the long wait! I've been really slammed at work. Thanks so much for all your kind comments - I'm slowly making my way through them!
> 
> Translations in the end notes.

The day Booker and Andy arrived Yusuf woke Nicolò up with a gentle hand on his shoulder and a cup of coffee in the other.

“Morning.”

Nicolò had woken when Yusuf had untangled their limbs earlier but his body seemed to have decided lately that what he needed most of all was rest. He wasn't inclined to disagree.

“ _Buongiorno_ ,” He wasn't awake enough for English at first and had to drag himself up into a sitting position before he could shift gears. “What time is it?”

“It's just after eight.” Nicolò accepted the offered coffee and Yusuf sat down next to him with his own mug. “How are you feeling?”

“Confused as to how I managed to get up hours earlier than this for years.”

Yusuf smiled a laugh and sipped his drink. “Well, you've done a lot of heavy lifting, emotionally.”

Nicolò hummed and busied himself with his coffee. The more sips he took the tighter a grip he felt he had on consciousness. He decided to say the thing that had been bothering him since yesterday rather than continuing to suppress it. Old habits died hard but he was trying.

“Are you sure you don't want some time alone with them first?”

Yusuf sighed. “As if Andy would let me. They're way too keen to meet you.” He leaned out and ran a hand through Nicolò's hair. It felt great and tickled Nicolò's stomach in a way that was starting to become familiar. “And this way you don't have to worry about it any longer than necessary.”

“I'm not worried.” Yusuf looked at him until he dipped his gaze and mumbled into his mug. “Not much, anyway.”

“I get it. They're basically family.”

“Well, that makes me feel much better.”

Yusuf half-stood and caught Nicolò's chin in his hand, pressing a kiss into his temple. “What am I going to do with you?”

Nicolò raised his eyebrows. “I have a few ideas.”

The other man snorted and headed back to the kitchen. “More coffee?”

“ _Akeed_. _Shukran._ "

“ _Prego_.”

At some point they'd started feeling their way into one another's languages. It felt like a commitment, easier than to think about the declaration burrowing a tunnel into his chest. Yusuf already knew a little Italian which he claimed to have picked up from Andy who apparently spoken everything. Nicolò on the other hand was butchering his way through very basic Arabic. And a small hopeful part of him he could barely dare to nurse, like a tiny bird fallen from it's nest and doomed to die despite all pleading efforts, had him download Duolingo. He'd learnt some French at school and when Yusuf was working Nicolò would practice, dragging himself through verb conjugations he had hardly known to begin with. Often this would lead to the unhelpful voice reappearing to question his motives, to asking him _Are you really this pathetic?_ But he'd bat it away and focus on the surprising differences between the languages. The word for colour had a different gender in French. Why?

And when he couldn't rabbit-hole down the variation of etymology in Romance languages he'd go back to his books or kept exploring the city. And usually by the time whatever he'd settled on for the day had stopped holding his attention Yusuf would be back to distract him in a whole other way. He promised himself he'd get looking at jobs soon. But after months of wrestling with his recent vocation he was enjoying taking some time to think about anything but that.

Yusuf reappeared with his second cup of coffee and managed to convince him out of bed with the promise of company in the shower. By the time they were both dry, dressed, and fed, Yusuf's friends were imminently arriving. And then they were arrived and it was too late to make a break for it.

Within moments of opening the door Yusuf had swung Andy up into a hug. The older woman laughed delightfully. She made a joke as Yusuf set her down and Nicolò picked up on an accent but one he couldn't place. Yusuf's jokes that his head of department was a bit of a mysterious character were already proving ton be true.

Nicolò watched as Booker pretended to begrudgingly accept a hug but smiled into Yusuf's shoulder when they embraced. Then all eyes turned to him.

Andy approached him like you would an opponent, sizing him up. “So you're the man who's finally convinced Yusuf to leave history for the present.” She smiled and put out a hand. “Andy.”

Nicolò swallowed. He was still on edge but there was something aggressively comforting about this woman. Like a mother stoat. She'd fight to the death but only for her friends. “Nicolò,” he shook her hand. She had quite the grip for an academic. He couldn't help but wonder if she threw axes in her spare time. “It's great to finally meet you.”

Booker had appeared at her shoulder. “Hey man, I'm Seb-”

“No-one's going to call you that, Book!”

“Yeah Book, stop trying to make Seb happen, it's not going to happen.” Yusuf was watching them all with a warm smile.

Booker rolled his eyes and slapped Nicolò affectionately on the shoulder. “Brace yourself, pal.”

Within a few minutes Nicolò understood Booker's warning. Yusuf made them all coffee and they all sat down around his kitchen table for lack of sofa space. Andy immediately launched in to ask him about himself. Everything but work, he noted, and was grateful for. She may be a force to be reckoned with, but she was also kind and considerate in a quiet, understated way, that he felt sure she would deny if it were pointed out. Booker, on the other hand, made jokes and teased the others, which helped break the tension, and always made a point to draw Nicolò into any in-jokes that came up. By lunchtime he felt like he'd known them all for years. He hoped eventually he would be able to say that he had.

He looked over at Yusuf at one point, smiling and laughing with his friends, and then eventually acquiescing and telling them how they'd met.

“And who made the first move?”

Yusuf looked ready to steer the conversation on when Nicolò answered. “I did.” Yusuf winked at him over the table with a soft look on his face. “Yusuf was too much of a gentleman so I had to.”

This resulted in some light-hearted teasing from the others. But all Nicolò could think about was the way Yusuf had looked at him. It was like looking at the embodiment of the feeling that had been gnawing at him for sometime. He had a feeling it wasn't going to take much more digging before it surfaced. But he wasn't worried. This was something he would happily surrender to when the time came.

  
  


-

  
  


Nicolò had insisted on making lunch to welcome Andy and Booker. After three cups of coffee and two hours of conversation Booker fell asleep on the sofa so Nicolò decided to make a start on cooking. When Andy ran to the bathroom Yusuf went and stood behind his boyfriend where he was putting things together at the kitchen counter.

“You okay?” He hooked his chin over one of Nicolò's shoulders and could see a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Your friends are lovely.”

“Yeah, they like you too.”

“How do you know?”

“I know.”

The smile continued to work at Nicolò's mouth. “Is Booker okay?”

“Oh, yeah, he's fine.”

“How can he sleep after that much coffee?”

“I think it's a dad thing. I've seen him get in a nap on the Metro and still wake up in time for his stop. While standing.” He moved round to stand beside Nicolò with his back against the counter. “I was going to take Andy to get her surprise. Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

Nicolò gave him a look. “You're very sweet.” Yusuf tried to hide his grin. There was something spectacular about knowing the person you loved thought good things about you. “I'll be fine.”

Andy arrived back in the kitchen. “What's up?”

“I was going to go and pick up dessert. Want to join me?”

“Sure.” Andy darted a look at the back of Nicolò's head, a silent question. Yusuf nodded slightly and she smiled. “See you in a bit, Nicolò.”

“Have fun.”

Once Andy had disappeared into the corridor to retrieve her shoes, Nicolò glanced after her and then quickly kissed him on the cheek. It killed Yusuf a little that he still didn't feel like he could do that in front of other people but he also understood. It was new, it was a lot, and it would take time. It was partly selfish, wanting to be able to take Nicolò's hand as they walked down the street together, to feel the comfort of his bedside him, but even Yusuf didn't feel safe doing that back home. _You planning on take him home?_ He pushed that thought away because it was too complicated for right now. Mostly he just didn't want Nicolò to be afraid any more. He wanted the world to be softer for Nicolò's sake, if nothing else.

Yusuf managed to snap himself back into social-mode by the time Andy and him were out on the street.

“Okay, firstly, good job,” He frowned at Andy who smirked. “He may not be a priest any more but he's definitely hot.”

Yusuf laughed. “Yeah, I like him well enough.”

“Well that brings us onto my second point,” She looked at him with her trademark sincerity. Andy was serious about loving her friends. “How much do we like him?”

Yusuf looked away. How could he answer that? Were there words that could quantify how he felt about Nicolò? When he thought about how he felt about the other man it reminded him of what it was like when he'd first learnt that space was infinite and how trying to imagine that made him need to sit down.

“How did you know?”

“You look at him like...” She thought for a moment. “Like you just saw your first eclipse or something. It's a lot.”

Yusuf snorted. “It's definitely a lot.”

“Does he know?”

He sighed. “I haven't told him, if that's what you mean. It's just. This is all happening stupidly fast.”

“Let me stop you right there,” Andy's voice was gentle but her expression told him to prepare to be schooled. “Do you remember how long Quynh and I spent not going out? Not just admitting the truth to ourselves and then even longer not being honest with each other? Do you have any idea how much I wish we'd done things 'stupidly fast' instead of faffing around for almost a year?”

“Faffing?”

“Yusuf,” she looked at him sadly. “Don't waste this. Life is long but it's also short. There's no rules for this one. Just tell him.”

“He's so new to all of this. I don't want to scare him.”

“Okay, but you know he looks at you too, right?” Now that was something that was just too appealing to consider. That Nicolò could love him too. He'd really have to sit down then. “Just, think about it. He's stronger than you think. You have to be to keep being kind in this world.”

They were nearly at their destination but as she'd been the one to bring her up Yusuf decided to ask. “Speaking of Quynh... how are you doing?”

Andy ran a hand through her hair. “Okay, I miss her.”

“And this sabbatical in Cambridge idea doesn't have anything to do with her?”

“How did you-” Andy shook her head, realising the answer to her own question. “Bloody Booker.”

“He's just worried about you.”

“I'm a grown up, I can make my own decisions!” She suddenly looked uncharacteristically sheepish. “And it's not what you think. Quynh and I have been talking.”

“Wait, what?”

“Well, emailing technically. She wrote me this long apology after... after it all went down and when I'd calmed down enough I wrote back,” Andy shrugged. “We just haven't stopped.”

“I mean, that's good, right?”

“I don't know, Yusuf," her voice broke a little. “I'm just really fucking tired.”

Yusuf nodded, he could understand her wanting to be cautious after everything she'd been through. But it had never made sense to him that Quynh going abroad for work meant they had to break up. He was quietly hopeful.

They arrived in front of the bakery and Yusuf stopped. Andy grabbed his hand. “You're kidding.”

“Like I was going to let you come to Israel and not have baklava.”

Andy spent an inordinate amount of time picking out different kinds for everyone, overjoyed by the number of options. The baker gave her a sample of a pistachio one and she closed her eyes as she bit into it.

“This is incredible. Yusuf, where did you find this place?”

Yusuf smiled. “Actually Nicolò did.”

“He's a keeper,” Andy said around a mouthful of pastry. Yusuf couldn't say he disagreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buongiornio = "Good morning" in Italian.  
> Akeed. Shukran. = "Sure! Thank you." in Arabic.  
> Prego = "You're welcome" in Italian.


	14. Even in the quietest moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolò starts job hunting and Yusuf worries about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from the song of the same name by Supertramp.
> 
> Sorry again for the slow update. Between work and dysphoria™ I am struggling to motivate myself to write and I don't want to half-arse this so... yeah. I am absolutely going to finish this fic but the last few updates may take a little while. Sorry!!

Andy and Booker were only around for a few days so Nicolò made a point of giving them some time alone with Yusuf, despite their protestations that he wouldn't be getting in the way. He already felt very much at home with them but he didn't want to overstep. He made his excuses and while Yusuf showed them around the city, Nicolò retreated to his flat and started the dreaded job hunt. He was flicking through different job websites, filtering for charity work. He didn't know what he wanted to do but he knew he wanted to keep helping people so he figured if he just kept looking something might eventually stand out. He hoped that between his degree and some clever framing of his experience he might be able to convince somewhere that he wouldn't be a complete waste of time to interview.

There was nothing in Genoa he was either interested in or qualified for. He hovered over the location button. _Where are you going to go, Nicolò?_ He started typing and then stopped himself. _Don't be stupid_. He sighed and closed his phone. He didn't know what to do and didn't have the energy to think about it. He wanted to crawl back into bed. Preferably Yusuf could come too. Bury his face in his boyfriend's necks and breath the same oxygen as him until his job and accommodation issues solved themselves. But he'd spent enough time hiding.

He left his phone on the table and took himself down to the corner to get a coffee. Promising himself that, when he came back, he'd keep job hunting. He chatted with Galli in his five words of Hebrew. She smiled and said she was tired.

“Your... friend?” Her expression asked a question and she made as if to look around.

He realised she meant Yusuf. “He's with friends. They're visiting.” He wasn't sure if he was making himself understood but she smiled and nodded as she heated the milk. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. The smell of coffee, the warm summer air. _Problems just need solutions_.

Nicolò spent the rest of the day pushing down his anxiety and trying to focus. He'd go between thinking about jobs and then thinking about needing somewhere to live. But then knowing he couldn't decide where to live without a job. Then realising that if he didn't know how much he was earning he couldn't decide where to live. By the time Yusuf swung by he was practically a boxed spring.

Yusuf wrapped an arm around his chest and kissed him behind the ear. “Hey.”

Nicolò pressed his eyes closed and tried to lean into Yusuf, body and soul.

“Hi.”

“Andy and Booker want you to join us for dinner. You up for it?”

“Sure,” he was trying to sound sturdy but it came out like a question.

“What's up?” Yusuf came round and took the chair next to him at the kitchen table. “What's going on?”

Nicolò ran a hand over his face. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair on Yusuf. “I can't find what I'm looking for and I don't know what I'm looking for.”

“Okay, woah-”

“And soon you're going to go back to Paris,” Yusuf looked at him liked he'd just kicked his puppy. “And I have no idea what I'm going to do.”

“Hey,” Yusuf took his hand. “Listen to me.” He looked at him very seriously. “I don't know what's going to happen either. But we'll figure it out. We'll figure it out together.”

Nicolò felt guilty. He felt like he was burdening Yusuf with his problems. And, had he not known him as well as he did, he'd have half expected Yusuf to just throw his hands in the air and rid himself of Nicolò's messy new situation. But he was Yusuf. So he didn't.

“I feel... adrift,” he smiled cynically to himself. “I keep thinking that it would have just been so much easier to have just stayed the way I was-”

“No,” Yusuf looked at him intently and desperately. “No.”

“I know. I know that deep down. But sometimes... I feel like I got me into this mess and that there was a really easy way to stay out of it.”

“It wouldn't have been easy, Nicky.” Yusuf said quietly.

“I know. And even if it were, I wouldn't want it,” he squeezed Yusuf's hand. “I'd rather have what I have now, no matter how complicated parts of it may be.”

“Me too.” Yusuf looked like he was about to say something, then rethought it. “You know I care about you, don't you?” Nicolò smiled, nodded. “I'm not just going to up and vanish because your life isn't all planned out or... or when the summer ends.” Yusuf's face crinkled into one of his magnificent, spine-melting smiles. “I'm in it for the long haul.”

Again. There it was again. That kick in Nicolò's stomach. _Don't be an idiot_. “Thanks.”

“Geez, don't thank me. I'm a ready and willing participant here.”

Nicolò needed to sort his life out. He needed to shut up and just... figure it out.

Nicolò nodded and half stood up, leaning over the table to kiss Yusuf briefly. “What's for dinner?”

  
  


-

  
  


Throughout dinner, Yusuf watched Nicolò. It made sense that he would be worried about his future, about his life. But he wanted him to feel safe, secure. Wanted him to know that he didn't need to worry about Yusuf. That Yusuf was the last thing he needed to worry about. He was ready to be really stupid about this. He was already stupidly in love.

Booker and Nicolò were swapping Catholic-childhood stories. They were all laughing but Yusuf winced at some of the off-hand remarks. Booker may have learnt to laugh at the darker side of life but Yusuf knew how much and for how long some of what Nicolò had been taught as a kid had hurt him. Still did.

“So now I go on the high holidays to make my _maman_ happy but otherwise I'm out.”

“You take the boys at Christmas, don't you?”

“Yeah, but that's Christmas,” Booker took a swig from his wine. “Are you done with it all?”

Nicolò shrugged lightly. “I'm building something new.”

Yusuf smiled at that. He didn't want Nicolò to have to give up everything in order to be himself. It was nice to think that, despite everything, Nicolò could still have faith.

“I'm assuming you're not waiting for marriage.”

Yusuf frowned. Nicolò had gone pink. “What?”

“You know, to get around the Catholic gay catch 22. You can haven't sex before marriage but you also can't get married so... .”

“Booker.”

“Yes?” He turned to Andy.

“Don't be an arse.”

“You got it, boss.”

Yusuf leant forward and gently pressed his fingers against Nicolò's elbow where it was resting on the table. The other man glanced at him but just shook his head slightly and asked about Booker's kids.

Even though Nicolò had reassured him that he was alright at dinner once they'd parted ways with the others Yusuf apologised for his friend.

“I'm sorry about Booker, sometimes he doesn't know when to stop.”

“Oh, it's fine, I was more worried about you actually.”

“What? Why?”

They were strolling back to Yusuf's flat and the glow of the street lights cast strange shadows on Nicolò's face.

“I didn't want you to think I was expecting anything.”

 _Wait_. Was Nicolò talking about marriage right now? _Well, no, that's exactly what he's not talking about_. But still... .

“That... honestly, that never occurred to me.”

“Okay, good. I didn't want to feel like you were under any pressure.”

_What the fuck is happening right now._

“No, uh, no. Though I'm sure it would delight my mother, I did not think we were quite there yet.”

Nicolò laughed. “Okay, good.”

They got to the front door and Yusuf let them in. Once they were inside, Yusuf gently pushed Nicolò back against the door.

“So just to clarify. If I wanted to have sex with you tonight I wouldn't need to ask for your hand first?

Nicolò sighed with fond exasperation. “No, Yusuf, despite the last several times we've slept together I have just now decided that we really cannot continue to live in sin.”

“Okay, I'll call the registry office. Or do you think it's too late?”

Nicolò put an end to their joking by kissing him. Yusuf ran his hands up in the other man's hair. He loved his hair. The feeling of it, short and thick, catching on his fingers as he held Nicolò's head in his palms.

They had had a conversation (slightly awkward on Yusuf's part and surprisingly candid on Nicolò's) about what bedroom activities were on the table and had decided to stick with what Nicolò knew for now while he got more confident. This seemed more than fair enough to Yusuf who was still blown away by the fact he got to see Nicolò naked most nights. And he would happily admit to anyone that the best moments were afterwards when he'd wrap himself around the other man and they'd snuggle up together. Sex was great. Intimacy as greater.

Another good development had been how Nicolò had seemed to become more and more comfortable as time had passed. Sometimes he'd still look like he was thinking more than could possibly be good for him and Yusuf suspected that little voice of his surfaced more often than he admitted, but progress was progress. He wanted Nicolò to enjoy his own body (and Yusuf's while he was at it) without any sense of guilt or shame. It was like climbing a mountain and it was a long, tough road, but, my goodness, the view from the top was worth it.


	15. It pours from your eyes and spills from your skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolò has an 'oh shit' moment. Yusuf continues to be enamoured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Hardest of Hearts by Florence + the Machine. I think about the line "there is love in your body but you can't hold it in" two times a week.
> 
> For those who don't know, the AT is the Appalachian Trail, a hiking route on the east coast of the USA from Georgia to Maine and one of my life goals. I insist on everyone having a happy ending in this and so it seemed like a fun solution to that problem (you'll see what I mean).
> 
> Thanks everyone for being so kind and patient and just generally wonderful. I'm slowly making my way through comments by prioritising my energy for writing updates. You're all making 2020 slightly less terrible for me, so thank you.

The last day of Andy and Booker's visit Nicolò woke up in Yusuf's bed. He spent a while in that dozy state where he had no idea if seconds or hours had passed since the last time he'd opened his eyes. Yusuf's arm was still wrapped around him, hugging him into the other man's chest, a hand loosely open next to Nicolò's. One of Yusuf's legs was tucked between his and he had absolutely no desire to move. He realised, between drowsy blinks and breaths that he was completely happy. He was sure if he thought hard enough he could start worrying about all the major practical difficulties in his life, but by just lying there, basking in the feeling of the man he loved pressed against him- Oh shit. _There is is._ Nicolò was very awake now. He wanted to turn around and look at Yusuf ( _You always want to look at Yusuf_.) but he also didn't want to wake him. Nicolò needed a minute to absorb his sudden realisation.

Well this explained the strange feeling that had been tugging behind his ribcage for the last few days. He felt like such an idiot and purposefully did not count the days since he'd first kissed Yusuf because that way lies doubt. He was sure the other man couldn't possibly feel the same way. Only Nicolò, so young and experienced in the ways of romance, could fall for a man he hadn't known more than a few weeks. It made him feel adolescent and foolish. But it also made him feel painfully, gloriously alive.

Yusuf stirred beside him, his open hand twitching at the lack of Nicolò's fingers between his, and his nose brushed against the back of Nicolò's neck. The deeply content, and not at all conflicted, part of Nicolò's soul sighed. _Forget sensible, you'd take this over anything_. He may not be ready to share this information, but that didn't stop him enjoying it. He wriggled around to watch Yusuf blearily wrench himself out of sleep. The other man made an unhappy, snuffly noise, and _I love him. I love him so much_. Yusuf opened one eye.

“Time is it?”

“I don't know.”

“Wrong. It's too early s'what time it is.”

Nicolò enjoyed watching every minute movement of every muscle in Yusuf's face as he convinced himself to stay awake. He reached out and ran a hand through Yusuf's curls and settled his hand on the other man's shoulder blade, lazily drawing small patterns on his back. Eventually Yusuf stretched and made an accompanying groan. He swung an arm out and flapped it around until his hand connected with his phone. He unplugged it one handed and narrowly avoided dropping it directly onto his own face as he held it above himself.

“It's almost eight.”

“Sleeping the day away.”

“Those Catholics really did a number on you, huh?”

Nicolò kissed Yusuf' bare shoulder. “Still Catholic.”

“Yes, sorry,” Yusuf smiled an apology at him and checked his messages. “Not that I can talk. I still wake up for _fajr_ most mornings.” He scrolled and smirked. “Oh dear.” Nicolò hummed a question into the other man's collarbone. “Andy and Booker went out drinking last night. She's in serious need of a solid breakfast.”

“There's a place I know that does a great shakshuka.”

“If you keep coming up with these excellent food suggestions Andy's going to replace me.”

Nicolò smiled into his boyfriend's arm. He couldn't say that the idea of being a permanent part of the friendship group was unappealing.

“Are you sure you don't want them to yourself?”

“And deny Booker the final opportunity to tease you?”

“If you're sure.”

Yusuf finished texting and dropped the phone onto the bed beside him. Nicolò slid under the covers and on top of Yusuf, straddling over his waist, and leaned down to kiss him. He sat above him, enjoying the view. Yusuf reached up and lazily placed a hand on his arm.

“They'll meet us at nine.” Nicolò cornered a smile at the edge of his mouth and looked at him. “What's up?”

He shook his head. _Not yet_. And kissed Yusuf once more before rolling off to head for the shower.

  
  


-

  
  


Andy looked practically pitiful when she arrived for breakfast, but it was nothing compared to Booker. Yusuf had never been able to understand how a man who drank so much could still do so much damage to himself in a single sitting.

From behind his sunglasses Booker looked at him and raised a hand, almost in surrender. “Not so loud.”

“Good night, was it?”

They both collapsed into chairs and Nicolò immediately poured them both some water. _How could anyone not love him?_ They both gulped theirs down and Andy pinched the bridge of her nose with two fingers.

“Never again.”

“I didn't realise arak was that strong.”

“You betrayed me, Book.”

Yusuf smiled fondly and ordered them all some coffee while his friends regained the decision-making ability required to order food. He would miss them for the last few weeks he was here. _And then you'll have someone else to miss._ Yusuf looked over at Nicolò who glanced over with a quick smile, before turning back to tend, helplessly, to Andy. His hair was still slightly wet from the shower and stuck out near his collar. He longed to reach out and press it flat but was too delighted by it to do so. Yusuf dragged his eyes away. Booker, who had discarded his glasses, was looking at him with bare intensity, as if his pupils alone were saying _Really? You've got it_ that _bad?_ The Frenchman sighed and looked at his menu with a slight shake of his head.

When their food arrived Andy all but wept and immediately started inhaling eggs. Booker poked at his as he started in on his third coffee.

“So, Nicolò, you're going to take care of this one for us while we're not around to keep an eye on him?”

He waved his fork at Yusuf who instinctively looked over at Nicolò. The other man looked at him, his expression a mix of confusion and conviction.

“Of course.” Nicolò put down his cup of coffee. “Not that he needs me too.”

“I don't know, there was this time in London... .”

Andy snorted and then immediately winced at the sensation.

“What happened in London?”

“There was a window...” Yusuf sighed, of course they had to bring up that trip. “I fell through it. And I was fine.”

“The window wasn't,” Booker teased.

“Yusuf can be a bit of a 'look before you leap' kind of guy.”

“As I'm sure you know.” Andy elbowed Booker.

Yusuf wondered, not for the first time, why he thought introducing Nicolò to Booker was a good idea. He loved the guy, but he was certainly an acquired taste.

After breakfast they headed back toward the hotel so that Andy and Booker could finish packing. Nicolò was asking Booker about his boys, the only topic that Book could discuss with more animation than French sports teams and Miguel de Cervantes. Much as he enjoyed the way everything about his friend softened when it came to his kids, Yusuf hung back to chat with Andy.

“Has he worked out what he's going to do? Now he's not a priest.”

Yusuf flinched internally. “I don't think he knows...” He looked at the way Nicolò's short hair curled around the back of his head. Noticed how he often opened his mouth slightly when he was listening. Was once again in awe of everything about the quiet man from Genoa. “I don't really know how to help.”

“It can be kind of exciting though, not having anywhere you have to be, anything you have to do. You can just do what you want.”

“I don't think he knows what he wants.”

“Doesn't he?” Andy looked at him knowingly.

“Okay, yeah,” he laughed a little nervously. “But like for work. He doesn't even have a home.”

“You have a double bed, right?”

Yusuf shook his head. “That would be really fast. Like, break the sound barrier fast.”

“You remember when Lykon left halfway through a semester so he could go walk the AT?”

“It would be hard to forget. I thought if Quynh didn't have a heart attack then you certainly would.”

“When I asked him why he had to leave at that exact moment he said 'It's time.' He knew what he wanted and he didn't want to wait around for the sake of waiting... or my sanity, apparently. But regardless,” she bumped a fist gently against his arm. “He was right. It was time. He wasn't happy waiting just because it seemed like the sensible thing to do. He knew he wanted to go and he wanted to go right then. So he went. And have you ever seen anyone happier?”

Yusuf didn't say anything for a while. They were nearing the hotel. Just before they reached it Andy reached out and gently caught his wrist, turning him to look at her.

“Just tell him.”

Yusuf looked over at the man in question. Nicolò had turned back to look at them and had his characteristic side-smile on, the real strength of the emotion pouring from his eyes and directed entirely at Yusuf.

“Yeah,” Yusuf agreed. “Okay.” Andy slapped his shoulder familiarly and headed towards Booker. Yusuf stayed where he was for a moment, just watching Nicolò. He imagined saying the words. 'Nicky, I love you.' Imagined telling him to cast reason aside and just live. Imagined telling Nicolò that he couldn't bear the thought of them parting ways and that he'd do everything in his power to keep them side by side for as long as they both should live. He walked over and caught one of his fingers round one of Nicolò's for a second. _Soon_ , he thought. _But not yet._


	16. If I loved you less

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuf worries and Nicolò gets a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Emma by Jane Austen which I have never read and probably never will but the line "If I loved you less I might be able to talk about it more" God. Damn.

After Andy and Booker had left, Yusuf took the first open opportunity to fall into bed with Nicolò. Between juggling hosting and playing tour-guide, he'd had less time to spend alone with the other man, but there had been another reason. Regardless of how well they'd all got along, there had been a slight withdrawal on Nicolò's part. If you hadn't know to look for it you wouldn't have seen it, but Yusuf was always looking and so always seeing. The level of affection when it was just them was drastically different when the others were around. It wasn't just how he wouldn't kiss Yusuf in front of them, but he'd also catch Nicolò catching himself, his hand ready to touch but pulled back at the last moment. He even looked at him less, as though he were worried someone else might see the want in his eyes. It had been hard to be at the not-receiving end of the experience but harder still to imagine what must have been going on in Nicolò's head, consciously or otherwise.

It shouldn't always be about sex and it wasn't. But they hadn't since Yusuf's friends (and Nicolò's now, he hoped) had arrived and he needed to be careful about how they talked about this. Sex was something that, now they were together, just seemed to come easily. _Insert a Booker pun here_.

He toppled them both onto his bed and smiled down at Nicolò who was looking at him with the strong but gentle intent that was often in his eyes when they were turned towards Yusuf. He kissed Nicolò until they were both all but gasping for air. He used the breather to strip off his t-shirt but didn't wait for Nicolò to do the same, and instead just hiked it up so he had enough access to his chest. Nicolò laughed softly but soon the humour was replaced by huffs of arousal-shortened breath. Yusuf paused in his southward journey to suck a bruise onto his boyfriend's hip bone. The noise he made in response was staggering. Nicolò had finally gained the confidence to steer Yusuf and he used his hands where they were buried in Yusuf's curls to bring him up and kiss him between murmurs of encouragement against his mouth.

Yusuf wasn't distracted for long though and soon he was back on track. Having discarded Nicolò's boxers he rolled the condom onto the other man and then his mouth followed. Nicolò always shivered a little right before he came and it was something that Yusuf had come to be excitedly expectant about. That little idiosyncratic indication that he was about to take apart the man who was usually so in control. So fixed and steady. And here he was swearing and begging and cry out under Yusuf's ministrations.

Basically, it felt really fucking good.

What also felt good was when Nicolò recovered and turned that fiery intention on him. All of that determination concentrated on making Yusuf lose his goddamn mind. And boy was he getting good at it. He'd managed to find his way rather ( _Read: insanely._ ) well around their current repertoire but had a particular knack for hand-jobs. And when they were in this kind of fevered rush, Nicolò played to his strengths.

Yusuf came gasping open-mouthed against Nicolò's shoulder and it took a while for him to regain the use of his faculties.

“Fuck, Nicky.” The other man smiled bashfully and ducked his head. “That was... yeah.”

They both lay on their backs, shoulders tucked together, as they caught their breath. Yusuf turned his head so he could look over at him, the man he'd do anything for. Even not ask.

He basked in the silhouette of Nicolò's face, the way it was slightly disrupted every time he bit at his lip in thought. Nicolò must have sensed he was being watched and turned to look at Yusuf. The subtle intensity of his returned and for a minute Yusuf thought the other man was about to climb back on top of him for round two. Nicolò must have seen the question he was so desperately trying not to voice being asked by some other part of him because he turned onto his side to face Yusuf properly.

“ _Tutto benne?_ ”

Yusuf chastised himself internally for failing to maintain a poker face. For failing to just let them have this moment. He rolled over too and busied himself with tracking the length of the tendon in Nicolò's arm, up and down, with a finger.

“So... it's been a while.” He risked a glance at Nicolò's face but, as was so often the case, it gave nothing away. “I just noticed... while Andy and Booker were here you seemed less... comfortable. With this.” He momentarily took his hand back to gesture between them. “And I just wanted- I'm not complaining – but if there's anything I can do to help.”

Nicolò looked down at the space between them, said nothing. Yusuf felt awful. There were few things worse than someone feeling bad for feeling bad and that wasn't what he wanted here at all. He desperately wanted to make the opposite the case.

When Nicolò did speak it was slowly, as if he was still working out what he wanted to say as he said it. “I don't know if I'll ever feel like I don't need to hide this some of the time.”

Yusuf felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. He knew Nicolò found it hard but he had thought at least it was something that he might... _Get over? That he'd just wake up one morning and not have to compete with thirty years of internalised homophobia?_

Yusuf held onto Nicolò's arm, comforting the other man. He held onto it for dear life.

“I'm sorry.”

“No.” He shook his head against the pillow. “You've nothing to be sorry for.”

“I think with time it will get easier but I can't promise it will ever go away completely.”

“That's okay. I mean, I don't want you to feel this way but I'm not going to blame you for it if you do.”

Nicolò looked directly at him. “It's not a problem for you?”

Yusuf would have laughed had he not felt so wretched. “No, of course not. I get it. I wasn't always comfortable either... it takes time. And it's not like I'm expecting us to be able to make out in the middle of the street. I just... I don't want you to feel like you can't be yourself around our friends.” He squeezed Nicolò's arm. “But it's not your fault if you don't feel you can be. Now or ever.”

Nicolò visibly relaxed. For a minute Yusuf thought he was going to apologise again but instead he just smiled and said. “Okay.”

When they went to sleep that night, Yusuf wrapped his arm around Nicolò as normal but before he went to sleep he buried his face in the other man's hair. Breathed in the clean smell of his shampoo, the mustier smell of Nicolò's skin just discoverable beneath it. He pressed his nose into his boyfriend's skull and prayed that time really would heal all wounds.

  
  


-

  
  


Nicolò had to work very hard not to feel bad, or at least inadequate. In an ideal world he'd take Yusuf's hand and hold it for all the world to see. He'd merrily tell people “this is boyfriend, Yusuf” and feel nothing but pride and joy. He'd be able to reach out to run a hand along his back or squeeze his shoulder in passing and the presence of others wouldn't make him recoil like he'd been electrocuted. Or smote with lightning. When he was alone with Yusuf he felt like the luckiest man in the world. The moment someone else factored into the equation he didn't feel like a man at all. He barely felt human.

He knew that it was unlikely they'd be safe to walk hand-in-hand down every street in the world in their lifetime. But he hoped one day not to be constantly on the look out for others' disapproval. That he could at least feel safe amongst friends. The way he felt in Yusuf's arms.

Yusuf seemed to hold him that little bit tighter than night as they lay in bed together. And it was only when the other man fell asleep that his grip relaxed. Part of Nicolò wanted to turn around and wake him. Tell him that he loved him and that he didn't care who knew it. But while the second part still felt like a lie, the first part felt... contaminated by it. So instead he focused on the feeling of Yusuf's breath against his neck, The warm weight of his arm over him, the reassurance of his heartbeat reverberating through his ribs and into Nicolò's back. This, at least, was still sacred.

The next morning he woke first. Yusuf had to go back to work so he got up and made coffee for them both. He heard the alarm go in the next room and Yusuf stuck his tousled head around the door. Nicolò wondered if he'd worried that he'd run out on him after their conversation the previous evening so he smiled at him and greeted him in Arabic. Yusuf grinned and replied in Italian before heading back for a shower.

They didn't talk about the night before over breakfast and Nicolò was silently thankful. He watched with a smile as Yusuf blearily drank coffee and munched down some toast. He just wanted to keep moving forward as best he could. He felt like if they tried to divert onto a different track the runaway train that was his heart might just derail. Instead they talked about Yusuf's work as it wound down for the summer and what they might do that evening. When Yusuf got up to collect his things Nicolò went over to pour himself another cup of coffee.

“Okay,” Yusuf looked around, patting himself down to check he had everything. “I think that's me.”

“Have a good day.”

Yusuf came over and kissed him goodbye briefly. “See you later,” he smiled and kissed him once more. “Okay, bye, love you.” And then he left.


	17. Only fools rush in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolò is anxious and Yusuf worries about the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Can't Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley. But my preferred version is by Fleet Foxes.
> 
> I'm so sorry it took so long to update! Especially after the cliff-hanger I left you all on. Work has been hectic (and will likely continue to be so) and I've had a really bad cold. But I think I know how I'm going to wrap this all up now so... fingers crossed!

It took Yusuf until he'd made it down to the street to realise what he'd just done. What he'd just said. _Oh_ , went the little voice in his head. _Oh shit_. He quickly turned, failing to catch the door in time, and fumbled with his entry fob as he kept mistiming opening the door in his haste. As soon as he was back in the building he hurried back upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. He was jamming the key into the lock and failing to get the door unlocked for a solid thirty seconds because all he could think about was how much Nicolò was probably freaking out.

Yusuf finally made it through the door and left it to swing shut behind him. Nicolò was right where he'd left him. As though the shock of Yusuf's announcement had frozen him in place.

Breathless, Yusuf gasped out “Hey.”

Nicolò didn't say anything for a moment, a finger tapping against his mug.

“Did- did you mean it?”

 _Oh Nicky_.

“Of course,” Yusuf stepped forward. “Of course I meant it.” _How could I not? How could anyone not love you?_

Nicolò's jaw was twitching in a way that Yusuf still wasn't yet able to decipher. He looked down and let over a breath which Yusuf couldn't help but wonder if he'd been holding since he'd left. Then, very quietly. “I love you too.”

Yusuf resisted the urge to punch the air. He closed the distance and took the cup from his boyfriend's hands. Placing it on the counter with muscle-memory so he didn't have to look away from Nicolò.

“You're not just saying that to be polite or-”

Nicolò snorted and looked up at him. “I promise you, this is not something I would say on a whim.”

“So we both.... well, that's convenient.” He beamed as Nicolò rolled his eyes but kissed him before he had a chance to issue a retort. “That wasn't how I wanted to tell you.”

Nicolò leaned forward so their foreheads were pressed against each other. “I'm glad you did. I'm not sure I would have ever had the courage myself.”

“Have a little faith, Nicky.” He kissed him again. “I know this isn't ideal timing but I really do have to go to work.”

“It's okay, I understand.” A mischievous look crossed his face. “Unless you're planning on making another big declaration as you head out the door again.”

Yusuf groaned internally, _I am never going to live this one down_.

“Please give it at least an hour before telling Booker about this.”

Nicolò laughed. “You drive a hard bargain, but I agree to your terms.” He pulled Yusuf in and kissed him before steering him towards the door with one hand. “Have a good day.”

“You too.”

Once he was at the door Nicolò called out to him. “Hey, Yusuf,” he was fiddling with the breakfast things and not looking directly at him. “I love you.”

Yusuf smiled. “I love you too, Nicky.”

  
  


-

  
  


Nicolò hadn't dared to dream that Yusuf could have possibly felt the same way. Which, in a weird way, was what had kept him going. Because if Yusuf didn't love him then there was no possibility that he would ask him... no, it wasn't even worth thinking about. But now. Now all he could think about was that the man he loved was going back to Paris in nine days. And Nicolò wasn't going with him.

After the initial jolt of joy and elation he'd felt at hearing Yusuf tell him that he loved him, the sensible but unhelpful part of his brain reminded him that there was no point getting excited. The rug was going to get swept out from under his feet any day now. It was all going to come to an end. Yusuf would go back to his work and his friends and Nicolò would go back to his loneliness. And it hurt. It stayed with him all day like lingering nettle stings. Sometimes he'd distract himself with an errand or watching the pigeons as he ate his lunch in the park with a book. And then he'd feel that sharp sensation on his skin, reminding him that there wasn't long left of this easy happiness. Everything was about to become very difficult.

Yusuf had mentioned a football game the previous day and so Nicolò put it on while he made dinner and then lay down on the sofa with his book to wait for his boyfriend to come home. He'd catch himself reading but not _reading_. His eyes moving left to right down the page but nothing going in. When he heard the key in the lock he welcomed the excuse to stop pretending he wasn't waiting for Yusuf and dropped the book on the table across from the sofa.

Yusuf appeared in front of him, having shed his jacket and shoes, and immediately flopped down on top of Nicolò, hugging him into the sofa. Nicolò hummed a laugh.

“Hello.”

“I missed you.”

Nicolò swallowed and tried not to feel the feelings that were brimming just under the surface, like bubbles in water about to boil. He brought his arms up around Yusuf's back and buried his face in his neck. Inhaled the smell of Yusuf's hair, his skin, him.

After they'd eaten, Yusuf prodded him with a socked foot, not looking away from the game.

“What's eating you?”

“Sorry?”

“You're quiet... well,” he glanced over at him with a gentle smirk. “Quieter than normal.”

Nicolò pretending to be interested in the game. “I'm fine.”

“Okay,” Yusuf turned so he was sat with his back against the chair's arm and looked at Nicolò. “Let's try that one again. What's wrong?”

Nicolò rubbed the back of his neck and stared at his other hand where it rested on his knee. “You go back to Paris next week.”

There was a long pause. Nicolò looked over to where Yusuf was running a hand over his face.

“Yeah.”

“What happens then?”

Yusuf shook his head. “I don't know.” Nicolò nodded to himself. _Well, shit_. But then: “What do you want to happen?”

They looked at each other. Nicolò resisted the urge to shred his lower lip between his teeth. He couldn't ask because it wouldn't be fair. So instead he just said the only honest thing he could say. “I don't want this to end.”

“Oh, Jesus, no, Nicky, no that's not-” Yusuf lunged forward and grabbed his knee. “I don't want that either.”

Nicolò felt something inside him sigh with relief. “Okay,” he almost laughed the word. “Okay.”

“C'mere.” Nicolò let himself be manhandled about until he was sat with his back against Yusuf's chest. The other man wrapped his arms across his ribs and kissed the side of his head. “We'll figure it out.”

Something happened in the football game but neither of them paid it too much notice. Nicolò relaxed into Yusuf's embrace and after a moment managed to convince himself to say, “I love you.”

 _Look him the eye when you say it, you coward_. He winced internally. Yusuf repeated the words back to him and that just made him feel more guilty. He remember Yusuf asking him to tell him when the voice in his head was being unhelpful but he already felt like he'd been enough of a burden for one day so instead he just resolved himself to do better next time. Yusuf had been so patient with him, but he couldn't help but feel like his boyfriend not being able to look at him when he told him he loved him would hurt. He was tired, so very tired, of feeling afraid of himself all the time. Then Yusuf rubbed his nose against the back of his neck and for a little while he was swallowed in the glorious feeling of being loved. Loved by someone who he loved too. And not just anyone, but Yusuf.

So maybe it would be alright.

  
  


-

  
  


While Nicolò was in the shower Yusuf whipped out his phone and called Booker.

“Yo!”

“I told Nicolò that I love him.”

There was a pause at the other end of the line, Yusuf paced near the window chewing on a hangnail.

“Well, shit.”

“Yeah.”

“What did he say he.”

Yusuf smiled to himself. “That he loves me too.”

There was another pause. “That's good news, right?”

“Of course-”

“So why do you sound like you're about to have an aneurysm?”

Yusuf put a hand to his forehead. “Because I live in Paris.”

“Look, I know the RER is a nightmare but it's not _that_ bad.”

“Book.”

“Okay, so you live in Paris, he lives in...”

“Genoa.”

“Genoa. You're still both in the EU – it's not like he lives in... somewhere in England.”

“He literally just left the priesthood. He came out about five seconds ago. I don't think he should be alone right now.”

“So are you going to move to...”

Yusuf sighed. “Genoa. No.”

“Okay. So what options does that leave you with?”

And there lay the issue. There was no way Yusuf could ask Nicolò to move to France with him. That would just be... well, it wouldn't be fair when Yusuf couldn't bear him saying no.

“Booker.”

“Yes, Yusuf.”

Yusuf rubbed his eyes. “You're being logical. I don't like it.”

“Well, I'm not exactly having a bundle of laughs right now either but one of us has to be the voice of reason.”

“Do we?”

He practically heard Booker shrug. “Yeah, you know what, fuck it. Long distance works out what... almost hardly never?”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, pal.”

Yusuf heard the shower stop. “I gotta go.”

“Okay, call me when you realise I'm right.”

In the bedroom Yusuf stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt and moulded himself against Nicolò when he joined him in bed.

“Hey,” he spoke into his boyfriend's hair. “We'll figure it out.” Nicolò twisted his fingers between Yusuf's and nestled back against him. “Do you believe me?”

“ _Bien sûr._ ” He pulled Yusuf's hand round so he was holding Nicolò tighter.

It was only as Yusuf drifted off that he realised Nicolò had answered in French, but sleep took him before he had time to examine that thought further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The RER is part of Paris's Metro system which I have a person grudge with. I'm sure it's actually fine if you're not trying to get from Gare du Nord to St Lazare in less than twenty minutes.
> 
> Bien sûr. = Of course.


	18. You let me have your heart and let me turn it over too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolò meets Yusuf's mum. Yusuf asks the million euro question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Complete Surrender by Slow Club. The rest of the song doesn't work for them so don't panic if you know if and see the chapter title and think Oh God What's He Going To Do To Our Boys. They're all good.
> 
> The next chapter will be the epilogue so I hope I've done this justice. Again, sorry for the long wait. Hell year, eh?

Nicolò hadn't imagined that he could have found himself in a situation more nerve-wracking than meeting Yusuf's friends. That was until his boyfriend suggested he meet his mother.

“I need to Skype her anyway and she's bound to ask so I'm just letting you know to prepare yourself.”

Nicolò wondered if there was a way he could find some incredibly urgent reason to leave the flat. But he was always desperately flattered and endeared by the fact Yusuf wanted him to meet his parent, be it virtually. It was one of what Sister Bona called his grandfather traits that he still hadn't adjusted to a lot of recent technological advances. He hardly liked talking on the phone, never mind trying to navigate fickle internet connections and jolting images of the other party. Nicolò sent up a prayer of thanks that it hadn't yet become the norm to do most meetings virtually while also asking God why. Why allow such inventions. And why subject him to the torture of meeting Morriam this way.

They had agreed that Yusuf would bring his mum up to date on the situation and then bring Nicolò in to say hi when Morriam inevitably insisted on seeing him. They both had smattering of French so the plan was to use that as the _lingua franca_ (pun intended). While Nicolò waited to face the enemy he paced around Yusuf's flat shuffling and reorganising already organised papers and books. Yusuf was chatting away in Arabic and Nicolò didn't even try to keep up but he could hear Morriam's voice, slightly hoarse, coming through the computer. Then he heard his own name and he froze on the spot. Yusuf looked up and smiled at him before turning back to his mother, who was now speaking a lot faster with evident glee. They exchanged a few more sentences and then Yusuf waved him over to sit next to him on the sofa.

As Nicolò crept into the frame, Morriam was peering as though she could see around the corner of the screen. It was such a very “mum” thing to do that Nicolò instantly liked her. She beamed ( _So that's where Yusuf got it from._ ) and started to speak in Arabic before stopping herself and saying.

“ _Bonjour Nicolò._ ”

“ _Bonjour Madame..._ ” Nicolò suddenly realised he didn't know her surname but was rescued by her immediately waving him off.

“ _Morriam_ ,” She continued in French. “It is so good to meet you.”

“You too.”

Morriam said something to Yusuf and Nicolò turned to see him blush.

“Uh, she says you're very handsome.” Nicolò immediately felt himself turn pink and but he didn't have long to be embarrassed as Morriam continued to ask him questions about himself. Where he was from, how he was liking Jerusalem. Nicolò was worried she was going to ask about his work or his family and realised that he'd almost immediately felt at ease with her, as he had with Yusuf's family of friends. A half-remembered quote about the quality of a man being told by his friends knocked around his mind. It felt especially true of Yusuf. Then Morriam asked the worst possible question.

“When are you leaving Jerusalem?”

“Next week.”

Morriam looked horrified and asked Yusuf what seemed to be a flood of questions but didn't let him answer.

“Nicolò, you are not going back to Italy?”

“Well-”

She turned back to her son and after a fleeting exchange she asked something in a 'well, obviously' question. Yusuf didn't answer. She said something again.

“Mum.”

Morriam switched back to French. “My French isn't good enough, Nicolò. Yusuf must ask you.” She sat back as if to say 'my work here is done' and watched them intently while she adjusted a pin in her hijab.

Nicolò turned to face Yusuf the same moment he did but the other man immediately averted his gaze. “My mum asked about your job and I explained and about your whole situation and... she wants to know why I haven't asked you to come back to Paris with me.”

  
  


-

  
  


The conversation wrapped up pretty quickly after that. Yusuf made his excuses but by the expression on his mum's face she knew all too well why he was rushing to get off the line. The moment he could Nicolò got up and started pacing.

“Nicky.”

“You don't have to ask me.”

Yusuf frowned. He knew this Nicolò – the 'ready to apologise for existing' version that appeared when he was confronted with his own vulnerability. But it had been a while.

“It's... it's a good question.”

Nicolò stopped and looked at him. Yusuf felt oddly calm. As though this were inevitable. As though it were the most natural conclusion in the world. “Why haven't I asked you? When it's what I want more than anything.”

Nicolò blinked a few times as though they were still talking French and he hadn't quite understood. “I don't... you want me to come to Paris with you?”

“You don't have a job or a home to go back to. I know I would happily trade sole custody of the duvet to keep you nearby so,” Yusuf shrugged. “Fuck it. Want to come to Paris with me?”

Nicolò looked about himself. His sea green eyes wide as the ocean. “You're... you're not just asking to be polite?”

Yusuf smirked, “I'm not sure asking you to uproot your entire life and move into closer proximity to Booker counts as polite.”

“You're sure?”

“I'm sure. Surer than anything.” He finally caught Nicolò's gaze. “I'd have asked sooner but I was worried I'd be putting too much pressure on you.”

“Too much-” Nicolò laughed. He actually laughed. And walked over and threw his arms around Yusuf. “I wanted you to ask me so much I thought I was going to go mad if you didn't.”

Yusuf enjoyed having his boyfriend's arms around him, and his own pulling Nicolò in closer, and breathed in the warm smell of his hair, before stepping back.

“This is the love thing all over again.”

“What?”

“From now on, we just need to say things to each other. Just... like, just talk when we have these thoughts. I'll trust you to handle yourself if you trust me to... whatever it is that stops you telling me things.”

Nicolò grinned shyly. “I don't want you to think I'm some love-sick idiot.”

“Well, if you are then I'm right there with you, baby!”

“Okay, from now on we talk. Or at least... I'll try to.”

“Who could ask for anything more?”

“Well...” Yusuf frowned and Nicolò looked at him with a cautiously sly look. “I'd quite like to celebrate.”

Yusuf cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, that I think we can manage.”

  
  


-

  
  


“FUCKING FINALLY.” Nile's exclamation drowned out the rest of the group's cheers and taunts. “Geez, I thought I'd be grey before you asked.”

“Don't talk about getting old Nile – it makes me feel ancient.” Andy leaned forward. “Need us to do anything in preparation?”

Yusuf glanced over from his computer screen to wear Nicolò was preparing them dinner, humming happily to himself.

“Nicky-”

There was a chorus of laughter and teasing at hearing the pet name, mostly from Booker.

“God, you're so in love, it's sickening.”

“We can't all be bitter and jaded, Book.”

“You're just not trying hard enough.”

Nile swatted him with the back of her hand. “What were you saying, Yusuf?”

“Well, Nicolò may need some help finding a job.”

Andy got a look on her face that Yusuf knew all too well. It was that 'first through the doors of hell' look that meant she had made something her mission and sweat blood until she saw it completed.

“I'm sure we can work out something.”

“It's all working out so well,” Nile smiled. “I can help him find a friendly mass- if he wants that. And Booker can help him practice his French.”

“I can?”

She ignored him and started listing cafes and bookshops she thought Nicolò would liked. Andy sat back, smiling at her friends. Booker shook his head.

“You're just going to be disgustingly happy, aren't you?”

Yusuf looked over at Nicolò who looked up from where he was slicing peppers and smiled a soft, gentle smile at him. A smile that said I love you in the quietest most perfect way.

“Yes,” said Yusuf. “I think we will be.”


End file.
